John walked along the road, wondering what he was up to. He knew Sherlock could sometimes do things without telling John, but this seemed ridiculous. They had been on the run from the police and John was put in a state of shock from Mrs Hudson being 'shot' when she was perfectly fine.
"Stop there." The urgency in Sherlock's voice bewildered John.
"Sherlock?" This was not normal, even by his standards.
"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop." John turned around, raised his head and searched for Sherlock. He couldn't see him at first, until he spotted a dark figure on the edge of a roof of a hospital. . The blood drained from his faced, his heart stopped.
John had no idea what to say. He couldn't think. "Oh God," was all he could mutter. Time went both fast and slow for John, blood was pumping loudly in his head and his hands were shaking. Sherlock wasn't making any sense; he said he couldn't come down and that Jim Moriarty was an invention. He knew Sherlock was lying, he could feel this was all wrong. He was saying that he should tell everyone he was a fake and that he had a researched him, but that cannot have been true, could it?
On the top of the roof, the wind blew quietly. Sherlock was sat rather uncomfortably against a vent with Moriarty on his right, holding the phone up to his ear. He couldn't help smiling at the amusement of the event. His hand was clutched around the rope attached to the dummy dressed in his clothes with a silly printed face of him stuck on it.
"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?" Moriarty started laughing silently at the fact that John could believe such nonsense.
John's voice called out from the phone, "Leave a note when?" Sherlock moved the phone away from him and shushed his associate's growing laughter. For this to work John had to believe he was actually dead; however he couldn't deny that it was entertaining.
Sherlock put the phone up and said the last words, much more casually than he thought he ever would, "Goodbye John." He released his grip from the rope and watched the dummy fall over the side. The sound of John shouting his name made the pair howl with laughter, they had done it. They looked at each other as they sniggered. Ordinary people are just too funny.
As the laughter drew to a stop, Moriarty's face became serious and thoughtful. He knew this what it, the time that he and Sherlock Holmes could be completely honest with each other. After working together, they had grown a strong bond of trust and admiration. Sherlock read Jim Moriarty's face, yet wasn't sure what it was. He looked at him with confusion at what he was thinking, and then whether it was real. He saw his pupils dilating, as Irene Adler's did. Was it true? Could Moriarty actually feel this way? Then Sherlock felt the warmth inside him, the urge to turn the friendship into something more. The puzzlement left his face and both of them leaned in. Sherlock could feel the sweetness of Moriarty's breath. As their lips were about to meet, Sherlock chuckled, which grew into almost a hoot. He moved away and Moriarty looked confused and angry.
"What? What is it?!" Sherlock continued to laugh and slowly stood up, still grinning. He looked down at Moriarty and stretched out his arm.
"Let's get out of here." Moriarty didn't say anything, but replied to him in a sweet smile and took Sherlock's hand.