The John Watson Fall

One of them has to die. But which?

Moriarty found his cell to be the perfect place to plan. And the fact that Sherlock was on the other side of the wall made it all the more fun. Yes, I've already begun to play with you, Sherlock. But I'm not done yet. NO, you still need to read the ending. If I can only figure out what-

Oh. Oh, was that a light bulb flashing? Moriarty mentally investigated what it revealed. A dead body on the pavement. Yes, he'd been planning on that. A group of people and the cries of torment. No surprise there. Now, to take a look at the faces...

Hm. That would be interesting. Moriarty calculated the sequence of events. If he timed it just right, his little game might even have a few additional moves.

Oh, yes, it was perfect. So deliciously perfect. He could almost taste the death already.

Moriarty laughed. "I hope you enjoy playing with fire, Sherlock," he whispered to the wall gleefully. "Because this is going to BURN."

********

A Cab Ride and a Story

John flipped through the paper absentmindedly. Sherlock leaned against the window, possibly in his Mind Palace. The case with Moriarty was beginning to take its toll on both of them. John didn't know how much longer they could hold out. The end was drawing near; he could sense it.

His phone suddenly vibrated. Pulling it out, he glanced at Sherlock for a reaction, but his eyes never left the window.

Get in the cab. Don't tell Sherlock. And grab your coat. It's cold out. -M

John peeked out the window. Sure enough, a black cab was waiting by the curb. John grabbed his coat and hurried down the stairs. He paused just before he left, making sure his gun was in his pocket. After confirming that it was, he stepped outside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The cab hummed to life as he approached. He opened the door and climbed in. "Where are we going?" John asked. The cabbie said nothing, but pulled the cab back out onto the street. They rode in silence for a few minutes, until the screen in front of John flickered on.

"Hullo," said Moriarty. "Are you ready for the story? This is the story of the Loyal Squire.

"The Loyal Squire was the most devoted follower of Sir Boast-A-Lot. And, as time passed, Sir Boast-A-Lot relied more and more on the Loyal Squire.

"One day, the Loyal Squire learned that someone was plotting to kill Sir Boast-A-Lot. The Loyal Squire couldn't let that happen, could he? But how could he stop it?

"So instead of telling his friend about the plot, the Loyal Squire offered himself to Sir Boast-A-Lot's enemies. But would that be enough?

"The end!"

John took several deep shaky breaths. "What the-"

"The best friend always dies," the cabbie said as they came to a stop. Moriarty turned around and smiled. "No charge."

John stumbled out of the cab. He tried to get his gun out, but the cab - and Moriarty - was gone before he could.

********

 

On the Rooftops of London

 

"Are you coming?"

 

John look up in surprise. "What?"

 

Sherlock tied his scarf impatiently. "Are you coming to Bart's or not?"

 

"Ohm um, yeah." John shifted in his chair. "I'll meet you there."

 

Sherlock headed out, but poked his head back in. "Are you alright, John?"

 

"Hm? Yeah, don't mind me."

 

After Sherlock left, John sat quietly. He didn't plan on moving any time soon, but when his phone vibrated, he knew those plans would change.

 

On the rooftops of London...Coo, what a sight. I'll see you at Bart's -M

 

John took a long look around the flat. "I'll be back," he said, but he didn't really believe it.

 

***

 

As he approached the roof of Bart's, John could hear "Staying Alive" blasting through the air.

 

"Why am I here, Moriarty?" John shouted.

 

Moriarty looked up from where he was jamming on the roof's ledge. "John, so glad you could make it!"

 

"Why am I here?" John repeated.

 

"We both know you already know the answer," Moriarty said with a smile as he stood up.

 

"You're going to kill me." It was a statement, not a question.

 

"Oh, no, John. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to talk to you, and then you're going to kill yourself."

 

"Why me?" John asked quietly. "Why not someone who matters?"

 

"Why not Sherlock, you mean? Because, I'm not done with him. I still want to play."

 

John took a deep, steadying breath. "Will...will you let me talk to him, one last time?"

 

"Of course. It was always part of the plan."

 

********

 

The Final Conversation

 

"Sherlock."

 

"John? Where are you?"

 

"I'm here, Sherlock. I've been here for a while."

 

"Well, then, where-"

 

"Outside, Sherlock. You'll see me."

 

Minutes later, John saw Sherlock standing below, searching the crowd. "Up, Sherlock. Look up."

 

Sherlock's gaze instantly found his friend. "John, what the-"

 

"Sherlock, listen to me. It's time for me to go."

 

"What do mean, John?"

 

"I mean that you no longer need my help."

 

"Well, of course I still need your help; why would you thing of leaving?"

 

John struggled to keep his voice steady. "I've completed my soldier's duty. I'm being release."

 

"Released? Released from what?"

 

A deep shuddering breath. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

 

John saluted, then jumped off the roof.

 

The last thing John heard was Sherlock screaming his name, almost like a sob.

 

********

 

Epilogue

 

Sherlock's hand shook as he turned the pill around in his fingers. He'd saved it for a while, planning to run tests on it. But what better way to test it, then on himself?

 

He brought the pill up to his lips. As he was about to bite down, the door swung open.

 

"Sherlock? Sherlock, what are you doing?" Molly dropped beside him.

 

"I need to leave," he said, barely above a whisper.

 

Molly took the pill from him. "Is this what John would have wanted>"

 

"John isn't here anymore." Sherlock covered his face with his hands, shaking with every strangled sob.

 

Molly tentatively put her hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "But he is, Sherlock." She put her other hand over his heart. "He's in here."

 

"I don't know if anyone's told you, Molly, but I don't have one of those."

"Yes, you do. That's why it hurts."

 

Sherlock took a shaky breath. "I want it to stop hurting."

 

"What do you need?"

 

Sherlock looked her in the eye. "I need you."

A Late Proposal

Who's ready for some more Sherlolly feels? I certainly am! Grab your tissue boxes; this one's a tear-jerker. *Note* This is a blog exclusive. You are the first to see this. That means you are special!


"Lestrade says that she left some things for you. A microscope, some science journals, a few nick nacks."

"I'll pick them up later."

John nodded. "Right. I'll...I'll meet you back at her flat, then."

"Thank you."

Once John had left, Sherlock took a deep shuddering breath. "I'm not quite sure how to do this," he began. "I've seen John do it before, but that was...different."

He placed a trembling hand on the pure white headstone. She didn't belong under piles of dirt. She was meant to have the sun lighten her face, warming her whole body.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," Sherlock whispered. "I didn't want to tell you this way. But now I suppose it's all I can do.

"I never hated you, or thought you unimportant. I've always found you beautiful, intelligent, and good. Too good for me, which is why I always seemed so brash. I didn't know how to talk to you, or how to tell you how amazing you were.

"I've been wanting to do this for so long. I- I guess now is as good a time as any." Sherlock knelt on the wet grass, and pulled a ring box from his pocket. "Molly Hooper, will you marry me?"

The tears that had begun to pool in his eyes while he'd been speaking now spilled down his cheeks in great drops. He covered his face with one hand, and clutched the ring box even harder with the other. The cool facade he'd preserved for everyone else's sake melted away, replaced by a broken mess.

For what felt like hours he sobbed, but he knew it was only minutes. He'd failed. He'd failed himself and he'd failed Molly. And he could do nothing to fix it.

No two year wait would bring her back to him; Sherlock knew that. She was gone, and he was left behind.

When he regained control over his emotions, Sherlock stood and placed the ring box on the headstone. "Goodbye, Molly," he whispered, then began the long walk to a cab.

His back turned, he didn't see the quivering pine branches move back in place.

Nor did he see the ring box disappear into the pocket of a white lab coat.

The Timid Princess

This was written by my friend Timber Bailey, as a spin-off of Sir Boast-A-Lot. I hope you love it as much as I do!

Hello. Are you ready for the story?

This is the story of the Timid Princess.

The Timid Princess was the quietest person in all of the kingdom, she was so quiet that not even Sir Boast-A-Lot could hear her. But as Sir Boast-A-Lot got to know the Timid Princess, he realized that she, in fact, mattered to him.

One day, Sir Boast-A-Lot needed help, because the Evil Dragon was threatening to destroy the kingdom and all of Sir Boast-A-Lot's friends, but the Evil Dragon didn't think about the Timid Princess, no, he did not.

Seeing this, Sir Boast-A-Lot asked the Timid Princess to help him defeat the Evil Dragon, because she was so quiet and the Evil Dragon wouldn't see her. But the Evil Dragon was wise, and managed to survive. He realised how important the Timid Princess was. The Evil Dragon felt silly for the mistake he made, and swore to never make that mistake twice.

So one day, when the Evil Dragon decided to destroy the kingdom again, he kidnapped the princess and held her captive in a very high tower. When Sir Boast-A-Lot heard that the Timid Princess was kidnapped he rushed to her rescue, like any knight in shining armour would.

But the Evil Dragon didn't want to fight Sir Boast-A-Lot, at least, not then. No, he just wanted to know how much the Timid Princess mattered to Sir Boast-A-Lot. So before Sir Boast-A-Lot arrived the Evil Dragon left the scene and returned to his cave, waiting for the knight to arrive.

As expected, Sir Boast-A-Lot was so angered that the dragon even dared to harm the princess that he set off to go to the Evil Dragon's cave and defeat him for the final time.

Sadly, this dragon is one that Sir Boast-A-Lot will not be able to defeat.

THE END.

Describing Our Villains

Lost Without My Uncle

Alright, I've gone easy on you with these first few posts. It's time to pull out the big guns. We're taking a trip down Fandom Feels Lane. Grab your shock blanket. This might hurt...

I lie in the back seat of the car, wearing my dad's old sweater, an orange blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I'm wide awake, but I keep my eyes closed, to avoid conversation.

My uncle sits in the driver's seat, but I know that he keeps looking back at me. I can feel his calculating gaze, trying to deduce what I'm feeling and thinking, but I remain as calm and closed as possible.

I know he knows I'm awake, but he leaves me to my own thoughts, and I silently thank him for the small pleasure.

The car pulls to the side of the road and stops. There's silence for a moment, and then my uncle whispers, "We're here, Harriet."

My eyes fly open, against my will. Fear consumes me, and in a moment of weakness I let a small sob escape. "Please, Uncle Sherlock. Don't make me see it again."

He turns around in the seat, and looks at me sadly. His brown hair is starting to gray, and worry lines have begun to form, but Aunt Molly says he's still as handsome as when he and Dad first met.

I've seen pictures of them from back then. They were a lot younger, and Dad was still living at 221B Baker Street with Uncle Sherlock. He was still living at all.

Uncle Sherlock reaches out and squeezes my hand. "I know, it's hard, Harriet, but the therapist thinks this is best. For both of us." Tears well up in his eyes. "We can do it together, okay?"

A few tears slip down my cheeks. I nod, and we climb out of the car. Hand in hand we walk through the cemetery, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I feel strangely calm, even though I had felt sheer panic only minutes before.

And then we see the grave, and my peace of mind shatters into a million pieces.

My parents have been dead for 10 years, and Uncle Sherlock consistently tries to bring me to their grave, but every time I see it, the pain is as fresh as when I was 6 years old. I fall to my knees, hugging my arms, and wondering why this had to happen to me.

They told me the fire was an accident, but I overhead Uncle Sherlock tell Lestrade that it was a deliberate murder. Everyone tells me it's not my fault, but it doesn't make me feel any better.

Uncle Sherlock drops down beside me. He hugs me closer, and kisses the top of my blonde head. "It doesn't get any easier, does it?"

I shake my head, then slip into his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and bury my face into his shoulder, just like I did when I was younger.

He holds me close and rests his cheek on my head. I feel his tears drop against my skin, and realise this is as hard for him as it is for me.

I don't know how long we sit here before Uncle Sherlock whispers, "I don't remember it ever being this hard. I'm sorry, Harriet."

"It's not your fault," I mumble against him.

"But it is. I should have done more to help you deal with this; I should be doing more. I've failed you."

I look up at him, and it hits me: Never before has Uncle Sherlock admitted failure. "No," I whisper. "You haven't."

He looks at me with tearful confusion.

"You and Aunt Molly took me in after Mom and Dad died. You've raised me as your own, and taught me so much. You didn't fail me, Uncle Sherlock. You saved me."

His tears fall harder now, but I can tell they are tears of gratitude. "You're so much like John," he says with a sad smile. "Selfless. Wise. Stubborn. And you look so much like him, especially in his sweater."

I rub the material between my fingers. "It's my favorite."

"It was his, too." Uncle Sherlock wipes away the last of tears. "I'm so proud of you, Harriet. I know John and Mary would be, too. You've grown into a beautiful, courageous young lady."

I hug him and whisper in his ear, "Thank you, Uncle Sherlock."

Some minutes later, we leave the cemetery and drive back to 221B. Things are easier now. I feel like I can let go of my pain. And it's all thanks to him.


I'd be lost without my uncle.

Fairytale Villains

A shout out to our favorite villains.

Why Aren't You Writing?

Just a bit of writing inspiration in case it takes the cast of Sherlock to get you to do it.