(Third Person View: )

"It's a trick. Just a magic trick." John had his eyes closed and was shaking his head repeatedly as Alice looked back up to Sherlock, her jaw set.

"No. Stop- stop it now. Now," Alice said, her voice breaking once. They started to walk towards the hospital entrance again.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move," Sherlock instructed urgently. John stopped and backed up, holding his hand up towards Sherlock in capitulation. Alice stopped but didn't back up with John.

"All right," John confirmed. Breathing rapidly, Sherlock unconsciously reached out his own hand towards his friends.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me," He said. His voice became frantic. "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?" Alice asked flatly.

"This phone call - it's, er... it's my note."

Behind Sherlock, two men were dragging the body of Jim Moriarty across the roof towards the door. Sherlock took no notice as he continued to concentrate on John and Alice.

"It's what people do, don't they - leave a note?" Sherlock said. John shook his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he was beginning to understand hit him, then he raised it again, his voice shaky. Alice just stared up at him still, her entire body tight and rigid.

"Leave a note when?" John asked.

"Goodbye, John," He said sadly. He laughed dryly for a moment. "Alice, take care of him for me."

"No. Don't," John insisted.

The men dragged Jim's body into a service elevator somewhere in the hospital, and laid it on the floor. As Sherlock continued to look down towards hos freinds, one of the men opened a case. Inside was a latex mask which was a perfect replica of Sherlock's face. The other man closed the lift doors, while the first man took a small bottle from the case and, using tweezers, carefully extracted a blue soft contact lens.

"Sherlock. No. Please," Alice begged. Sherlock gazed down at them for several seconds, and then he lowered his arm and dropped the phone onto the roof, gazing ahead of himself. John lowered his own phone and screamed upwards.

"No. SHERLOCK!" He screamed.

In the elevator, Jim's dead open eyes were now blue instead of brown. The man took the mask out of the case and laid it over Jim's face, then picked up a scalpel and reached forward to start lifting the closed eyes on the mask. The second man started to apply a dark curly wig to Jim's slicked-down hair.

On the roof, Sherlock spread his arms and fell forward. John stared in horror, and a man on a pushbike slammed into him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground.

Sherlock plummeted towards the ground, but now it was clear that he was attached to a bungee cord. While John lied on the ground still trying to catch his breath with Alice over him, Molly Hooper watched from a window of Bart's as Sherlock plunged past, the bungee cord trailing behind him.

He headed towards the pavement but the cord stopped his fall as it reached its full extension. Sherlock's breath whooshed out of him... then the elastic began to contract and Sherlock was yanked skywards. Molly gasped as he shot back into view, flailing to change his direction and, before she could react, he wrapped his arms around his head and kicked his way through the window in front of her.

She cringed back from the breaking glass and Sherlock landed on his feet and unclipped the bungee cord from his waist. It was whipped out of the window and disappeared from view.

Sherlock straightened his coat, ruffled his hands through his hair and marched over to Molly, taking her head in his hands and kissing her deeply for a couple of seconds. She reached up to hold his head but he pulled away, giving her a long last look and then leaving the room. She watched him go with a girly smile on her face.

Downstairs, the two men were dragging Jim's body - now perfectly disguised as Sherlock's - out onto the street, and nearby a man wearing a fur-lined hooded jacket was approaching John and Alice. The men put the body into position on the pavement and one of them squirted fake blood onto the paving stones around the head. Other people - various fake medical staff and passers-by - were running into position around the body.

The jacket-wearing man walked over to the two as more people ran towards the scene. John got up onto his knees, seeing the passers-by running over to the body and pointing upwards as they appeared to discuss what they just saw. John got to his feet, Alice supporting him, and the man stepped into their way.

"John," the man called, getting his attention and putting his hand on his shoulder. "John. John, Alice. Look at me. Look at me. Alice," he said quickly. John dragged his eyes away from the scene of Sherlock's fall and looked at Derren, whose face was a little fuzzy so close-up. Alice looked at him as well, but she looked like she was about to attack him. Derren put his fingers over John and Alice's faces.

"And sleep!" John collapsed forward, his eyes closing, and Alice falling on John. Derren supported them both (not without difficulty) and gently lowered them to the ground.

"Right the way down, right the way deep, right the way sound asleep. That's right. That's good - keeping my voice just there in the center of your head and floating all the way around you." While he was speaking, he reached down to John's wrist and adjusted his watch, turning it back a few minutes. He straightened up and looked down at the two.

"And you will awaken in three, two, one..." John started to move on the ground.

"...zero." Flipping his hood up, he walked away.

John rolled over onto his side, grimacing with pain as Alice shot up.

The crowd continued to gather around the body, and John - unaware of the passage of time since he first was knocked over by the bike - clambered to his feet and stumbled towards the pavement with Alice- as always- in tow.

Inside the hospital, Sherlock walked towards a set of double doors.

"No, he's our friend. He's our friend. Please," Alice said, he voice breaking again as she kept people away from her and John as best she could.

John reached down to take hold of Sherlock's wrist, searching for a pulse. A woman peeled his fingers off as she and another person pulled him away despite Alice's attempts to get them off. She was distracted by Sherlock, though.

As John reached towards his friend again, more medics arrived with a wheeled stretcher.

Sherlock half-turned as he walked, taking one last look behind him.

"Please, let me just..." He asked weakly. The impact of the shock and the bang on John's head began to take effect and his knees gave out.

'Sherlock's' wrist fell limply out of John's grasp. Paramedics arrived with a stretcher and loaded the body onto it as John watched in anguish. The stretcher was wheeled away; and Sherlock pushed his way through the doors and walked around the corner, disappearing from view.

"Bollocks!" Lestrade announced. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, Alice White and Doctor Anderson - the latter sporting a scruffy beard and with unwashed hair - were standing at a mobile coffee stall.

"No-no-no-no! It's obvious! That's how he did it! It's obvious!" Anderson insisted.

"Derren Brown?! Let it go. Sherlock's dead," Lestrade scoffed.

"Is he?" Anderson was very eager.

"There was a body. It was him. It was definitely him. Molly laid him out," Alice muttered, taking a sip and sounding offended.

"No, she's lying. It was Jim Moriarty's body with a mask on!" Anderson cried.

"A mask?!" Lestrade cried back, just sounding much more skeptical. Alice shook her head with a scowl while Anderson nodded eagerly.

"A bungee rope, a mask, Derren Brown. Two years, and the theories keep getting more stupid. How many more've you got for me today?" Lestrade sighed.

"Well, you know the paving slabs in that whole area - even the exact ones that he landed on - you know they were all..." Anderson began.

"Guilt," Alice interrupted, both her and Lestrade looking sternly at the bearded man.

"That's all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud, you and Donovan," Lestrade continued. Anderson looked down sadly.

"You did this, and it killed him, and he's staying dead. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it's gonna change what really happened?" Lestrade sighed, taking his coffee cup with him and beginning to walk away. Alice shook her head and followed.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes," Anderson said, almost proudly. Greg turns around, opening his mouth.

"Well that won't bring him back," Alice said bitterly, not turning around and taking the words out of Lestrade's mouth. They continued on towards where several camera crews were filming reporters.

"...that after extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty..." One reporter reported.

"... amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion..." Another said.

"...but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago..." A third explained.

"...Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far," the first told.

The three were now standing together again.

"Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London's Bart's Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it's unlikely he was able to cope with..." the second continued. Lestrade turned to Anderson as Alice watched the reporters absentmindedly.

"Well then." Lestrade raised his cup. "Absent friends. Sherlock."

"Sherlock," Anderson said sadly, raising his as well.

"To Sherlock," Alice joined in. They tapped their mugs together.

"And may God rest his soul," Lestrade added. They drank.