Genre: Drama, angst, friendship
Spoilers: End of series 2, "The Reichenbach Fall"
Warnings: Spoilers, angst, some violence, mentions of drugs, swearing
Big thanks to my first reviewer ever, KonekoZero!
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Resurrection
Sherlock
I have jumped. Moriarty was wrong. Falling is not at all like flying. Falling is tumbling down in a void, the concept of time and space suddenly reversed, for time stretches indefinitely, and space is narrowed down to the inevitable pull of gravity.
Time actually seems to stop while I fall. My fear, my feeling of loss and my anger grip my heart and soul and burn into them like a searing flame. Tears fill my eyes as my mind races faster than ever before, reconsidering every single one of my calculations on height and gravity.
A miscalculation will send me into oblivion instead of into a cushioning bed of hospital laundry. And chances are that I have overlooked crucial facts which could prove fatal. The snipers could have been instructed to shoot their targets in any case. The poison in my veins could affect me stronger that I calculated. The cyclist who is positioned run down and delay John`s appearance on the scene of my death could miss.
It is a very frail and most desperate plan backed up by sheer luck. To base a case of life and death to as unsound a basis as this would be a most intriguing experiment, except that experiments normally can go wrong and be repeated.
But my leap into oblivion cannot be repeated. It is a fifty-fifty chance between life and death.
My thoughts come to a halt with the violent impact on the truck. Thankfully, it really is the truck I land upon, the laundry bags breaking my fall. Still, the sheer force of the rebound knocks the wind out of my lungs.
Dazed and hurting, I feel Molly´s hands on my shoulder, as she pushes me onto the pavement, pouring blood over my hair, wetting it thoroughly. Caught in between moments of drifting in and out of consciousness, I register a sprained wrist, several cuts on my arms and sharp pain in my torso.
Far more immediate is the agony I feel as I hear John´s desperate cries to let him in, to get through to me. He is torn apart by grief and it is me who has broken him. I want to reach out, in this moment I want desperately to use my last breath to let him know the truth, but thankfully the poison takes effect and I pass out into infinite darkness.
Excruciating pain in my wrist, left leg and ribs wake me. I´m shivering and my head is throbbing violently. Someone is touching me lightly on the neck, checking my pulse.
"Thank God you´re awake", a female voice whispers.
I gradually surface to reality and realisation hits me. I am dead. Dead to the public, dead to Moriarty´s men, and above all to my faithful blogger. I open my eyes, scanning my surroundings and the two humans, man and women, standing at my bedside. A groan escapes my lips.
"I knew you wouldn´t be pleased to find me at your deathbed," my brother says, his tone dry, conveying a very rare display of black humor. The creases on his forehead straighten as he smiles, in fact smiles down at me. He grabs hold of my hand. "It´s good to see you again, little brother," he states softly.
It is so much unlike my brother to display emotions so openly that I am at a loss for words. Instead, I turn to Molly to express my gratitude. "Thank you. Without your help I wouldn´t have survived," I say, my voice hoarse, and she blushes.
"You still got hurt," she answers and creases her brow in worry. "You could easily have been killed, too."
I draw a pained breath. "Seems not to be the most brilliant idea to jump off a rooftop if one wants a long, happy life," I say. "Really Molly, I don´t know where this would have ended without your help."
Molly, in spite of her usual nervousness, stifles a small laugh of delight and cautiously starts to apply a bandage to my wrist.
"Hark, hark, my brother is confiding that he is not an unfeeling alien," Mycroft observes drily, not able to resist picking up our bantering.
"Special occasion, Mycroft," I spit, venom in my voice. "I am dead and gone to the side of the angels, remember? Died of – head trauma and internal bleeding, mainly, accompanied by a sprayed wrist, two broken ribs and bad bruising of the left leg and the torso. Am I right?"
"R…right," Molly stammers, flustered again. "That´s what it says… what I wrote down on your death certificate."
Weak with fatigue, I close my eyes. "Fine," I whisper. "Have you yet identified my body, Mycroft?"
My brother shifts. "An hour ago. I delayed my arrival for twelve hours as you requested. We´d better leave soon."
I nod in agreement, and my thoughts wander off while Molly finishes the bandage and tapes my ribs. With his late arrival, Mycroft has allowed Molly enough leeway to prepare my double. When the funeral is over, I will have vanished from existence, and be free to pursue the head of Moriarty´s financial network. The price is that I died in disgrace, that I step into anonymity, tearing all connections to my previous life. My previous live. An image of the flat at Baker Street passes my inner vision, and I wince in response to this sentiment.
Yet, I can´t refrain to ask. "How is John?" I demand to know, my voice only a whisper. My gaze settles on Mycroft, whose eyebrows twitch ever so slightly. But he decides to play fair.
"Devastated," he answers. "In fact, he passed out in shock and has been taken to hospital to be monitored. He will most likely stay until tomorrow morning."
Annoyingly, tears well up in my eyes and I try to divert my eyes from my brother´s scrutinizing gaze. I feel Molly´s hand on my shoulder, tightening in a reassuring grip.
"John will recover," Mycroft says. "And you need to heal before you can start your quest."
