Shame
Sherlock Holmes couldn't sleep.
To be precise, he didn't want to.
Every time he drifted to sleep, he would dream about flying the aeroplane by Martin's side. Martin would whine about ridiculous things like "too mean to the police officer", "Shooting the wall is too dangerous, Sherlock. What if the bullet goes through the wall and harms the old nice lady?" or "Are you gay?"
Sometimes, the passengers sneaked into the cabin as well. John was usually the pussy one who complained that the plane was flying too low which was extremely risky. Sherlock would wave to the stewardess, Molly to make some tea. After Molly bringing the hot beverage, John disappeared. (It was in his dream. There wasn't any logic.) And Martin would take a sip and whisper, "You should be nice to her, Sherlock." while eyeing her secretly. Then, Lestrade would storm in and grumble about the music being too loud, as if he didn't notice how Sherlock was not in the mood for thinking about other people's feelings.
Most of the time, Sherlock ignored them, lowered the plane and turned up Danse Macabre in Lestrade's face.
Unfortunately, the dreams became nightmares recently. The plane was always crashing down and when he was adjusting the equipment, Martin would jump in his seat and shout "Let me drive! Let me drive!"
The crisis was always solved when the plane was just about to bump into the Big Ben. But Sherlock suspected that one day it would. And he didn't like the idea of that at all.
So, when Sherlock was getting sleepy, he let the violin play its magic.
The day finally came.
Standing on the roof, Sherlock wanted to laugh. He had imagined how he would quit the stage of history but he never saw this coming.
Suicide? Not because of the boredom but the protection for others?
He could just go down the stairs.
But he couldn't. He couldn't let John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade die. He blamed them for being such irreplaceable parts in his life that he didn't want to go back to life without them. He despised himself for being such a sentimental idiot.
What incapable government Mycroft would lead! What tedious girlfriend John would bring home! Would Lestrade go back to his terrible wife? Would Molly get another psycopath boyfriend? How many more reports would Anderson screw up?
He had to shamefully admit that, like Martin and many other mediocre human beings, he cared.
Maybe he was in fact capable of loving.
It was really ironic that when he realized this, he was about to die.
He left one note inside his pocket and took the leap.
"I don't think autopsy is necessary. He's literally open." Molly pointed at Sherlock's cracked brain.
Lestrade looked at Sherlock with an expression which was hard to read. It was full of grief, fury, guilt, doubt and other complicated things. Molly couldn't find a single word to summarize.
"When I checked his pocket, I found this." Molly handed a note to Lestrade, "It made no sense at all."
Lestrade looked down at the note for a minute and said the only sentence after he entered the morgue. "Thank you, Dr Hooper." He put the note beside Sherlock and left.
It was only Molly and Sherlock in the morgue.
As Sherlock had instructed, Molly left a fake passport, a mobile, a suit, some painkillers, and a captain hat on the operating area. With one last look at Sherlock, she turned off the light and walked out.
Molly had absolutely no idea how Sherlock could cheat Death.
But she believed in him.
Martin woke up. He felt cold and strange. As he turned his head, he saw Sherlock's note:
Welcome back, Captain Crieff.
