A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion.

The Final Solution

Chapter 3

"NO!" Sherlock shouted but the roof was devoid of life bar him. He had thought the bullet in the gun was meant for him, never had it crossed his mind that Moriarty could take his own life, but then again he was a player to the end. Sherlock would bet the moment of his death was one of the happiest in his life, he had died thinking he had finally beaten Sherlock Holmes, how wrong he'd been. If anything it saved Sherlock a job, no longer would he have to find a way to kill Moriarty, he'd have to revert to his original plan, he would have to jump.

Stepping back up to the roof, Sherlock immediately noticed that John had arrived, stepping out of a cab almost directly beneath him. Pulling his phone from his coat pocket he rang his flatmate, one of only four numbers on his phone. John answered immediately "Hello?"

"John."

"Hey Sherlock, are you okay?" For a split second Sherlock pondered this question, was he okay? He wasn't dying, well probably not, his friends wouldn't die and his enemy was dead.

"Turn round and walk back the way you came." He had to get John to the right point, everything depended on the details, one tiny mistake, one misjudgement and his plan would fail.

John refused, still heading towards the entrance. "No I'm coming in."

"Just do as I ask. Please."

John heard the desperation in his best friend's voice, "Where?" he asked turning around and walking back to where the cab had dropped him off only seconds ago.

"Stop there." Sherlock replied, John was perfectly positioned, for a heartbeat Sherlock wished he could save his friend from this, could get him to leave, but he must stay, John must see him 'die' or he would never accept it. Now he just had to keep him there, it would take just under a minute, he could talk to his friend for that long, surely he could. He did the only thing he that would make John hesitate, he confessed, he admitted to creating Moriarty, to going too far, to trying to show off. Sherlock lied.

The next minute was the longest of Sherlock's life, he knew what he was doing, he had to ruin John's life to save it. Finally enough time had passed. "This phone call, it's my note. It's what people do don't they, leave a note?" This was it, "Goodbye John." He dropped the phone to the floor and paused, just for a nanosecond, he had to calculate this perfectly, his life depended on it. And with that, he stepped off the roof.

John was approaching the hospital again, he knew he had been tricked into leaving, Mrs Hudson was fine. What he wasn't sure of was who tricked him, was it Moriarty trying to get him out of the way or did Sherlock have a complicated plan. As he steeped out of the taxi his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"John."

"Hey Sherlock, are you okay?" It was Sherlock, of course it was, it always was. John had long since accepted that he was at his friend's beck and call and he would remain there for as long as he was needed. John;s life had been nothing after he'd returned from the war, but meeting Sherlock had change everything, life was exciting again.

"Turn round and walk back the way you came." John had only taken a few steps away from the taxi rank.

"No," he refused, "I'm coming in."

"Just do as I ask. Please." Sherlock was almost pleading now, John had never heard his friend sound desperate, he was always do clinical and condescending, something was wrong. Sullenly he complied and turned around and headed back.

"Where?"

"Stop there. Okay look, I'm up on the roof." John looked up and sure enough he could clearly see Sherlock standing on the roof of St Bart's, perilously close to the edge. "I, I, I can't come down so we'll just have to do it like this."

"What's going on?" John didn't understand, what did they have to do.

"An apology, it's all true. Everything they said about me, I invented Moriarty." John tried to interrupt, to make him see sense but Sherlock just cut across him, "I'm a fake." He was lying, John was sure of it, but he was so confused, he couldn't think straight. All of his senses were overloaded, colours and sounds accented, but all he could think about was his friend about to plummet to his death. Sherlock continued explaining, nothing John said deterred him, he was to busy confessing what he claimed to be the truth.

"This phone call, it's my note. It's what people do don't they? Leave a note." John's brain was swimming now, he must be in shock, sleep deprived, everything was so vivid, the wind seemingly whipping around the silhouette of his friend far above him.

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye John." There was a click and then… nothing. John glance down, Sherlock had hung up. Looking back up he failed to see his friend and then he noticed it. A falling body. Flailing limbs.

"SHERLOCK!" He shouted as the body disappeared behind the building blocking him from the entrance to the hospital. John thought he even heard the crack of bones against concrete. He tried to run towards the spot his friend must have hit, barely able to think properly, he couldn't nearly run straight. A cyclist appeared from nowhere and knocked John down, not stopping to help the distressed man get back to his feet. John was still shouting, all sights and sounds blurring into one, his only goal to reach his friend. He was a doctor, surely he could help.

As he reached the building he noticed the crowd that had gathered, somewhere, in the recesses of his confused mind he realised what they were staring at.

"I'm a doctor let me come through." He fought against the grappling hands. "Let me come through please," His words were slurred, barely audible, "He's my friend. He's my friend." John tried to reach Sherlock's wrist, aiming to take a pulse, but he was pulled away, dragged through the growing pool of blood emanating from Sherlock;s head. John was scared, absolutely terrified, he wanted to run, to get as far away as possible and for some reason the feeling felt familiar. He sank to his knees as two paramedics took away the body. John knew it was too late, nobody could spill that much blood from a head injury and live. John knew his friend was dead.