Chapter 1-Addendum
John's round trip from Bart's to 221B should be 26 minutes, plus 90 seconds to discover that Mrs. Hudson is fine and rush back out to hail another cab. It's been 11 minutes since he stormed out of the lab, so Sherlock expects him back in just under 17 minutes. Moriarty will want to savor his victory for at least that long. The plan is right on track.
Two of Mycroft's men meet him in the stairwell, one floor below the roof. He verifies that their headsets are communicating with Molly Hooper and with Sherlock's people on the ground. When he hears Molly's acknowledgment, the tremor in her voice is noticeable, but she has backup in the form of two beefy assistants he sent to help her throw the body from the window. Sherlock can hear everyone, and they can hear him.
He had not wanted Mycroft's help beyond the two men in the stairwell needed to arrest Moriarty at the right moment, but Mycroft had threatened to abort the entire plan if he didn't accept sniper coverage. There are three of them positioned in top floor windows in the building across the street.
Sherlock opens the door and steps out onto the roof. Moriarty is sitting on the edge of the roof wall, mobile phone on one outstretched palm. The tinny music coming from it is the ringtone he remembers from the first time they met. The symmetry is appealing somehow. The end echoing the beginning.
He listens to Moriarty rant and gloat, and waits for the precise moment to drop his bombshell. He reveals the 'code' that Moriarty showed him, tapping his fingers in the same pattern behind his back as Moriarty circles him. The effect on Moriarty is immediate and expected.
"I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. Now shall we finish the game?"
"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.
"Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort."
Knowing it's expected of him, Sherlock grabs Moriarty by the coat collar and hauls him to the edge of the roof, his fury only partly feigned. In his earpiece, he gets the elapsed time since John's departure. Sherlock needs to jump in 8 minutes.
Forced off-balance, leaning backward over the edge of the roof, Moriarty drops a bombshell of his own, and everything changes. "Let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."
His shock is real, and it freezes him momentarily. In his earpiece, rapid fire orders from all stations. Mycroft's voice overrides the chatter. "Sherlock, we're already looking for the spotter. Stall him."
They have to take the threat seriously, and it means there has to be a spotter somewhere within sight of the roof, waiting for him to hit the ground so he can signal the assassins to stand down. If they don't find him in time, he will see the airbag, and the game is over.
Seven minutes.
He walks to the front of the building and steps up on the ledge. Moriarty stands on the roof behind him.
He asks Moriarty for a moment of privacy, stalling for as much time as he can. Seconds tick by, and Moriarty is getting restless. Then Mycroft's voice in his earpiece. They've found the spotter. "We need to let him see you on the ledge, and then on the ground after the airbag is removed, but not in between. We need to get into position to grab him at the same instant we take Moriarty."
Sherlock smiles in relief. It occurs to him that the plan would have failed if Mycroft hadn't insisted on adding the three extra men. He will never hear the end of it, but they`re back on track. He laughs for Moriarty's benefit, then hops down from the ledge.
Moriarty spins on his heel. "What? What did I miss?"
Five minutes.
Now it's Sherlock's turn to circle his prey. "I don't have to die, as long as I have *you*. It's a bluff that Moriarty will certainly see througbh. He's already proven that nothing they can do will make him talk.
Sherlock realizes a moment too late that he's overplayed his hand. Moriarty smiles. Thanks him. *Believes* him. Holds out his right hand. Sherlock takes it in a handshake without knowing why. Moriarty's palm is cool and dry, like the skin of a snake.
"As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out," he says quietly. "Well, good luck with that."
Moriarty suddenly has a gun in his left hand. He pulls Sherlock close, puts the gun barrel in his own mouth, and pulls the trigger.
Sherlock stumbles backward several steps in shock as voices shout and overlap in his earpiece. "Gun! Man down! Man down!" And Mycroft overrides them, shouting his name. "Sherlock!"
Two minutes.
Focus. The spotter still has to see him jump, or the shooters will carry out their assignments. Everything has changed, and nothing has changed.
"I'm okay," he tells Mycroft, and heads back to the ledge.
"In position on the spotter," a man's voice says in his ear. "We're go."
Sherlock steps up on the ledge just as a cab pulls up below and stops. He takes out his mobile and presses speed dial 1. He sees John exit the cab and bring the ringing phone to his ear. He needs to get John into position as soon as possible to allow the team to get the airbag inflated and into position without John seeing it. His own voice is still shaky from the shock of Moriarty's completely unexpected suicide, and it helps motivate John's cooperation.
"Keep your eyes fixed on me."
He looks down to check the airbag. They're going to tell him when it's ready. A verbal signal backed up with hand signals from the ground. Just to make sure before he lets gravity take over.
John's voice is concerned, but calm. He says that he doesn't believe Sherlock is a fraud. He refuses to accept that he's been played for a fool all this time. He doesn't know yet that in a few moments, he won't have a choice.
It's critical that he accepts Sherlock is dead. He'll follow him otherwise, and that can't be allowed to happen. John is a soldier, but he's a doctor, not a fighter. He wouldn't last a month on this assignment, not even with Sherlock to watch his back. It's a solitary mission for a reason.
The emotion in Sherlock's voice is real now. It's dawned on him that this may be the last time he sees John Watson for a very long time. It may be the last time he sees him for the rest of his life.
"Good bye, John."
He drops the phone to the roof. In his earpiece, he hears confirmation of what he sees on the ground. The airbag is ready.
He raises his arms, and falls forward. John screams his name, his control disintegrated in an instant.
The impact knocks the wind out of him. Hands pull him off the airbag, and the hastily-rehearsed dance begins. He switches places with the body, feels the pint of blood Molly gave them soak his hair and the pavement under his head.
He takes the squash ball from his pocket and presses it into his right armpit, then extends his right arm out on the pavement so it's the first- and hopefully the only- part of his body John will be able to touch.
"Please, he's my friend. I'm a doctor. Please, let me through." John's voice, barely recognizable, pleading over and over.
More than shock. Something deeper.
Sherlock's eyes are open wide and staring because that's what Molly said he would look like if he fell that far onto pavement. They've streaked his face with blood, and it's gotten into his mouth. Nauseating. Metallic.
He can see John now, though not in focus because he can't blink. John's hand reaches out and clamps over his wrist, and he can feel the tremor of shock vibrating through his fingers. Then the hand is pulled away, and John's knees give out. He slumps to the pavement.
This isn't the way it's supposed to be.
The rattle of wheels. Footsteps. Hands lift him onto the gurney as John's choked voice whispers, "Jesus, No. God, no."
They turned his head away from John when they dropped him on the gurney, and he closes his eyes tightly to hide tears he doesn't understand.
Notes: I know it's short and probably should have been part of chapter one. I need to stop here and switch gears for a bit. This scene kills me every time I watch it. Writing it wasn't any easier. Chapter 3 this weekend. Things always go faster with feedback. - GW
