The next 10 chapters or so focus on the events that led up to the Prologue, I hope this chapter's ok! :)
Please review! :)
The End of the World
I just saw my best friend jump.
Those few seconds were the strangest in my life. It was like my brain couldn't work out what was happening. One moment the tall, dark figure of Sherlock Holmes was standing on the roof of St Bart's, right on the edge, and the next he was falling through the air, arms and black coat flailing, like an injured bird trying its best to fly, but the ground was coming up too quickly and its wings would not flap. It seemed my eyes completely missed the moment that Sherlock actually jumped, but I knew it had happened, because he now he was falling, falling so fast there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. There was nothing I could do, I just stood there and stared, while my brain tried to figure out what was really happening, because this wasn't real, I wasn't thinking straight, this isn't happening...
Then there was a terrible thud that brought the whole thing horribly to reality. But it's a reality that my mind refuses to believe.
I couldn't see the body. There was a truck blocking my view. I didn't want to see the body, but for some reason I felt like had to, I needed to confirm if Sherlock Holmes was alive or dead. Of course there were very few people who would be able to survive such a fall, but Sherlock Holmes always had something up his sleeve...right?
I began creeping slowly forward, the body slowly coming into view more and more. People were already gathering around the body, I could see a mop of black hair and dark clothes, I was so close to seeing his face...
Then something smashed into me. I didn't even see what it was, but pain rocketed up my back as I was thrown to the floor. My head smacked against the cold concrete and I gasped in pain. For a moment my eye-sight went fuzzy, I couldn't see anything, my brain was confused, I didn't know what was happening. My senses had become distorted and muffled, the sound of life had become distant, I felt numb, I didn't even know where I was.
Within a few seconds, although it felt like hours, my senses started coming back to me. I suddenly remembered that my best friend was lying on the ground a few feet away from me, he could be badly hurt...or worse. I managed to pull myself off the ground and ignored my spinning head, I was struggling to put weight on my right foot, but I ignored the pain that jolted through me as I ran to Sherlock's side.
There was a group of people around Sherlock's body, so once again my view was distorted, but by now I was becoming desperate. My heart was racing, my breath was coming out in short gasps, I felt like I had run a mile.
"Let me through please!" I somehow managed to cry, as I felt like my throat was beginning to close up, my voice was close to cracking but I tried my best to stay calm. I fought through the wall of people to try and get to Sherlock. "Let me through," I repeated, and I couldn't stop the emotion spilling out in my voice. "I'm a doctor, he's my friend!"
The group of people around me looked up, their faces were full of worry and sorrow, but I didn't see it, they were just faces, empty eyes stopping me from getting to Sherlock.
I tried again, "He's my friend!" but my voice was horribly weak, it cracked under the pressure of emotion as I suddenly found myself in front of Sherlock's body. At first his face was turned away from me and he was lying on his side so I couldn't see him properly.
But then one of the people opposite me, I didn't see their face, turned Sherlock's body over.
And that's when my world ended.
Sherlock's empty eyes stared up at the sky, bright blood was spattered across his face, his hair was wet with it, the red liquid was slowly spreading across the pavement. His mouth hung slightly open as if he was a little surprised that he had just killed himself. But it was his expression in his ice-blue eyes that was the worst thing; they were filled with fear. I could tell he was crying down the phone, and I look down at his face now and realise how afraid he was, and there was nothing I could do to help my friend.
"God no," I don't know where the noise came from, but I think the two words were uttered from my lips as I looked down on my motionless best friend. I couldn't feel my legs any more, they buckled under the pressure of realisation and I sank to the ground. The people beside me grabbed my arms and tried to keep me standing, it didn't take them much effort, I felt as limp and weak as the man lying in front of me.
Yet somehow my brain still does not believe that this has happened, the medical side of me still needs proof, because it's impossible that Sherlock has died, that sort of thing just...doesn't happen. He must still be alive. My hand reaches forward and takes his still-warm wrist and I search desperately for a pulse, but a hand pulls me away from Sherlock's wrist before I can be certain that my friend in alive or dead.
But what chances are there? Asked the resigned part of my mind. He's gone.
That's when it hit me.
An ambulance appeared out of nowhere, I didn't even hear the sirens. It's as if the world I am standing on has stopped spinning, but all around me time continues, people are moving and speaking and acting. The paramedics haul the lifeless body of Sherlock Holmes onto a stretcher and rush him into the ambulance, as if, like me, they still think there's a chance that he's still alive. But everyone knows that you couldn't survive such a fall, from such a tall building. No matter who you are, we're all mortal in the end.
A comforting hand of a stranger reaches out towards me, but I shrug them off and shake my head. I don't need their help, I try to pretend nothing's wrong, even though I told all the people around me that the dead man was my friend and then collapsed in front of them. I appreciate their concern, but there's really nothing they can do for me now.
I do the strangest thing after that. I go home. I don't even get a TAXI, I just walk, unaware of how much time passes as I slowly make my way back to 221B Baker Street, not knowing what sort of state I must look like to passers-by, they must look at me and think someone's died.
Someone has.
When I finally get home I do nothing but sit in the chair, opposite the one Sherlock always sits in, as if waiting for him to come home, but realisation slowly dawns on me that he will never sit in that chair again.
Whenever I close my eyes I see Sherlock's empty eyes, his limp body, the puddle of the blood on the ground. So I just stare sightlessly for God-knows how long into the gloomy distance, but my mind cannot help thinking about the last words he said to me before he jumped. As if all that had happened wasn't enough, I think it was the phone call that actually broke me.
Sherlock Holmes, my companion, room-mate and best friend, was a liar and a fraud. He had just admitted to me that he had deceived everyone, and his guilt was so strong by the end that he threw himself off a building.
I wish I couldn't believe his last words, but I don't know what to believe any more. My life has turned upside down, the world is empty.
Little did I know then of the chain reaction that was set off because of this day, that one phone-call and the death of a best friend, or a fraud. I didn't think it would be the beginning of the end, because everything had already come to an end that day.
