As the door to the small chamber closed with a click, Sherlock let out the breath he felt as if he had been holding for hours. He settled onto the cold metal slab and began to replay the previous hours' events. Everything had gone according to plan, aside from his injuries.
And Moriarty shooting himself in the head.
He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Prior to stepping out onto the roof of Bart's, he had played through every scenario in his head, thought through every possible ending to the game-all of those endings included his jumping to his "death" but not a single one included Moriarty ending his own life. Surely Moriarty would have people watching for Sherlock's fall, but would they have counted for the ring of a gunshot prior to the jump?
Sherlock brought his hands up to his lips, steepling his fingers and closing his eyes. His mind switched to John and the inevitable task of revealing the truth. He had to give it the right amount of time. Mycroft would plan the appropriate events-a funeral, candlelight vigil for his faithful followers. Would he have any more followers? Already he was certain the papers would be picking up on the story of their favorite boffin consulting detective being a fraud. Surely some of the more fanatic lunatics would not be swayed.
Just then, he heard a loud crash above his head, out in the morgue. Someone coming in through the doors. Wildly.
John.
"Where is he?" he heard John scream, certainly aggressively pushing past Mycroft's men stationed outside the doors. They had been directed to allow him past, but not direct access to the body.
"John, no!" Molly would approach him just as his eyes locked on the bloody mess upon the slab behind her. Silence as what Sherlock could only imagine as anguish rolled through John's body. He was surprised by how hard it was to listen to this encounter, even though he could only hear silence. Part of his psyche was screaming for him to clamber from the drawer, announcing his safety.
He has to believe it.
"John, I'm-I'm so sorry." Molly sounded as though her throat were blocked. Sherlock imagined tears staining her cheeks as she held John away from the body. She really was quite an impressive actress.
Was she acting?
Muffled speech he couldn't make out started and faded-Molly was leading him out of the room and to a waiting taxi as planned. She would encourage him to get some rest, and begin the process of filing the necessary paperwork to declare the death of Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock sighed silently and allowed himself to enter a semi-conscious state.