"I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence,
though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you."
(A.C. Doyle, The Final Problem)
We are hiding at Bart´s, which will be the setting for the last act. Molly, who has promised me her help for the conclusion of this farce, has left us alone to fetch something to eat. John sends me questioning looks now and again. My appearance must worry him, for I am playing restlessly with a small ball .
"Are you okay?" he finally wants to know. "Yes," I answer curtly, deep in thought. To him, it must appear as if I were disturbed by the recent developments whereas in fact they did only help to constitute my opinion that today is the right day to execute my final move.
He finally falls asleep on the floor, exhausted by our flight and as I watch him breathe I feel a sharp pang of regret on what I will need to do to him so soon. John, who has been loyal from the first minute we met. John, who flatly refused to believe that I could only minutely be related to drugs. John who shot a man to save my life. John, who tries to pry food into me whenever I neglect meals, John, who has been staying at the flat whenever Mycroft has alarmed him of one of my "danger nights" - my friend John. Who would most certainly be the first target of Moriarty´s men should the criminal´s plan fail. I cannot allow this to happen and, at the same time, I must stop the Irishman from accomplishing the scheme he is currently conducting on order of a terrorist organization.
Our time has come, I admit to myself and I pull out my phone and send him my last message. We´ll be meeting on the roof of St. Bart´s and I owe him a fall.
John wakes up when his phone rings. He listens in disbelief, then reports to me that Mrs. Hudson has been shot. He stares at me in disbelief when I tell him I will not leave to see the woman who means nearly more to me than my mother. Then he proceeds to calling me a "machine", but finally he leaves. If he is doubting me even more, this will make things much easier. I am on my own now, alone and ready, and I rise to go and face my opponent.
Half an hour later I am at the end of my tether. For a second I have considered it a possibility that it would not be necessary to jump, after all. But Moriarty, by shooting himself, has not left me this option. I reel around, facing the open sky, the capsule holding the Rhododendron Ponticum dissolving in my mouth. Never before have I been so terrified by the necessary course of action. Were it avoidable, I would never go on with my act. Even with the help of Molly and my homeless network it is too much of a risk. But my enemy´s henchmen will kill everyone who is closely associated with me if they don't see me fall, as Moriarty has made only too clear to me. And, as I have assured Mycroft, I would rather die than let the madman win this deadly game.
I step onto the ledge, glancing down where the truck has been set into position. At the same moment, a taxi pulls up on the adjacent street and John rushes out. I can´t allow him to approach any closer, so I call him.
"Hello?" he asks. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he knows something is amiss, as he has found Mrs. Hudson safe and sound in 221 B.
"John," I answer. There´s so much meaning in this word: John, I´m going to die, John, this probably won´t work out as planned, John, you are the crucial key to my plan. John, I love you but I am going to betray you – but I can reveal nothing of this.
"Are you okay?" he asks, spurting into action and running towards the hospital entrance. I need to stop him.
"Turn around and walk back where you came from," I demand.
"No, I´m coming in," he answers, determined as usual to meet a forthcoming danger head-on.
"Just do as I ask," I order more strictly, a tinge of desperation and even anguish in my voice. "Please," I add to emphasize my point. That makes him stop on the spot. I hardly ever beg, and now he definitely knows something is utterly wrong.
"Where?" he asks, scanning his surroundings.
"Stop there." Fortunately, he has not passed the building yet and from where he is standing he can only see it´s corner and the hospital´s rooftop. As I tell him to look up, he gasps, realization sinking in. I am not hiding securely in the lab, I am on the rooftop, exposed to the open sky and the drop of a multi-story building, ready to tumble into the abyss Moriarty has created. John is aware now that he can´t possibly rescue me this time. He has no idea that I need him as the most reliable, whilst most vulnerable, witness to my suicide, that he is the main key to my plan.
"I can´t come down so we´ll just have to do it like this," I inform him, calmer now. The effects of the drug reduce me to this weak phrase, and my words and articulation make him suspicious enough to ask what´s going on. "An apology," I choke out. I can hardly breathe by now and take several heavy gasps to get enough air for my next three words. "It´s all true," I manage to say with a great effort. I tell John that I invented Moriarty, cementing my lie, and hear him gasp in shock. But he won´t buy it. "Why are you saying this?" he asks, puzzled.
I can only tell him again that I am a fake, that the newspapers got everything right. That I want him to tell Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and actually everybody that Moriarty was my creation. I hope fervently this will be enough evidence for the consulting criminal´s henchmen to back off.
But John, in his indefinite faith in my person and my abilities, recalls to me how I knew everything about him the first time we met. He tells me that only I could have been so clever. A short, desperate laugh escapes my lips as I realise how easy things have been and how deeply I am betraying his faith and friendship right now. I feel tears on my cheeks and I wonder if they are signs of the drug taking its full effect on my nervous system or if they are tears of regret.
Then I realise. Sometimes the most significant traces are hidden in the smallest detail. One only has to find the single detail which leads to the solution, to the truth. I feel significantly more composed as I tell John that it is all a magic trick. Hopefully, he will realise that this is the evidence I left for him to discover the truth.
But now he is far from reflection, turning into action again and firmly pacing towards the hospital. I need to stop him, so I order him to stay, my breath already labored, and to look at me. To make perfectly clear that he will remember the exact wording of our conversation I tell him that he shall consider my call as my note. Ever so slowly he comprehends, shouting at me to stop, to stay where I am.
Right now, I am weeping openly, the pain of loss and regret burning hotly in my chest, dread nearly impeding my last step onto the ledge. I am at a loss how to express my farewell, so it is only "Goodbye, John" I cry before I abandon the phone. For the fraction of a second I can see my friend shouting up to me from down below.
Then I spread out my arms and dive.