Sorry it's short.

(Third-person POV: )

In a nearby building, a rifle sight was aimed directly at John’s head. Alice was standing so that if the assassin shot it would go through John and into her, so neither of them would be left alive.

As John continued to stand in profile to the sniper, a perfect target, the assassin lifted his gun back inside the window and began to disassemble the weapon. Packing it into his bag, he stood up and walked away, heading to the roof.

He reached the top, smiling crookedly to himself at the thought that Sherlock Holmes was finally dead. He went onto the roof and looked around for Jim, setting his bag down.

“Hey boss, ya ready to go?” He asked nonchalantly, looking around. As soon as his eyes caught sight of a trail of blood, he followed it up till he saw Jim lying dead. The victorious smile was still plastered on his face as his dead eyes stared at nothing.

His jaw dropped and he ran up to Jim, sliding down to his knees in front of him and getting the knees of his jeans soaked in his boss’ and friends’ blood. He looked at him, his hands hovering over him as if to perform CPR but knowing it would do no good. He scanned over him, searching for any signs of life and telling himself over and over in his head that it wasn’t true; it couldn’t be.

It was for only a couple seconds more he stayed in this state before he shouted out angrily at the dead body. He cursed and stood, pacing in front of Jim and running a hand through his hair. He continued cursing and stopped pacing, closing his eyes for a moment in exasperation.

“Boss- Jim, no…” He muttered, opening his eyes again and looking down at Jim. He sat down, not caring that he was sitting on the trail of blood and getting the seat of his pants covered in it. He put his head down low and put a hand in his hair, the other just hanging lazily as he squeezed his eyes shut.

DIOGENES CLUB

Mycroft was holding a copy of ‘The Sun’. Its headline screamed, ‘SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS’ and the straplines stated, ‘SUPER-SLEUTH IS DEAD’ and ‘Fraudulent detective takes his own life’.

Folding the paper and putting it down on the table beside him, he stared blankly into the distance and then folded his hands in front of his face in the prayer position.

221B

John sat in his armchair, dressed but with his feet bare and tucked together in front of him. One hand was propping up his head and he gazed into the distance, lost and in obvious pain.

Alice sat in Sherlock’s chair, her knees up to her chest and her forehead resting on them. She was wearing Sherlock’s red housecoat over the red shirt Sherlock had gotten her. She closed her eyes as she gripped the tail of the housecoat like her life depended on it.

ELLA’S OFFICE

As the rain continued to pour down, John gazed blankly at his therapist.

“There’s stuff that you wanted to say...” Ella began. John opened his mouth briefly and then closed it. “...but didn’t say it,” She finished.

“Yeah,” John confirmed, his voice breaking.

“Say it now,” the therapist continued.

“No,” He said tearfully. He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t.”

TAXI

John, Alice and Mrs. Hudson were sitting in the back of a cab as it drove into a graveyard. Mrs. H was holding a bunch of flowers.

Not long afterwards, they stood beside each other in front of a black marble headstone. The flowers were now resting at the base of the headstone.

“There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school,” Mrs. Hudson began. She looked at John and past him at Alice as well. “Would you...?”

“I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment,” John interrupted. She took his arm sympathetically. “I’m angry,” He added. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying not to break down. She patted his arm gently.

“It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel,” She comforted, gazing at the smooth black marble which simply bore the words ‘SHERLOCK HOLMES’ in gold lettering. Alice smiled a bit, but it was humourless.

“All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning!” Mrs. H continued.

“Yeah,” John agreed.

“Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!”

“Yes,” John nodded a bit. He closed his eyes as she continued, her own voice breaking.

“And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!” John turned to her as Alice smiled in the same way again briefly.

“Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?” John said.

“Okay.” She turned away, pulling her arm free of his.

“I’ll leave you alone to, erm...” Her voice broke again. “... you know,” She said. Crying, she walked away, fishing out a tissue to blow her nose. John looked at Alice. She nodded a bit and looked down at her feet.

John looked down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. He looked back over his shoulder to see that Mrs. Hudson was now out of earshot, and then turned back to the grave again.

“Um... mmm,” He hummed thoughtfully, trying to think of what to say. He pulled himself together a little. “You... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm... there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so... There.” He blew out a breath, whimpering slightly. Looking over his shoulder again and at Alice, who was still looking at her feet, he walked over to the headstone and put his fingertips onto the top of it.

“I was so alone, and I owe you so much.” He took a tearful breath. “Okay.” He turned and started to walk away but only reached the foot of the grave before he turned back again.

“No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t... be...” His voice broke and filled with tears. “...dead. Would you do...? Just for me, just stop it.” He gestured down at the grave. “Stop this.”

He sighed and lowered his head and stood there, broken. Reflected in the smooth marble of the headstone, his figure appeared to have the name SHERLOCK carved directly across his chest. He lowered his head further, covered his eyes with one hand and wept.

Finally he wiped his eyes, sniffed deeply and raised his head, coming to attention in front of his best friend. Nodding in salute to him and giving himself permission to dismiss, he turned smartly on one heel and then walked away.

(Alice’s POV: )

As John… paid his respects, I stood behind him and looked down at my feet, holding in tears. As he walked away, I waited for him to be out of earshot as he had been with Mrs. Hudson.

“Hi- Hello Sherlock,” I began, not sure how else to start.

“You- you died a fraud. You died a fake… I- I don’t know what to say. John pretty much said it all…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say for the first time in a long time.

“You never called me your friend,” I began again. “But it’s okay. I know I was, even if you never said anything. …You know, my friend -my army friend. You know the one. Jacobs.” I swallowed heavily and tried to not clench my fists.

“He never said out loud that I was his friend either. He… It was unspoken. An unspoken friendship; everyone knew it and everyone said it... Everyone but him and I. It was so true that it didn’t need to be said. It was so easy and plain to see.” I looked up at the gold letters, tears beginning to gather in my eyes.

“It was the same with you and I. You and John. John and I. We were all unspoken friends. We didn’t need to say it we were so close.” I took a step over to where John stood at the foot of his grave.

“You don’t need to say it, Sherlock. You never did. But I am going to say it to you, because I need to.” A choked sob came out of me unexpectedly and that just made me lose it. I looked down at the ground and cried. I just cried.

“I should have said it when you were alive,” I mumbled regretfully. I just stood there for a moment longer, letting myself calm down and wiped away the tears.

“I don’t see why this all can’t just be a dream…” I laughed dryly and briefly. “Horrible dream.” I turned to walk away, but like John I turned back almost immediately.

“Please, Sherlock. Please come back. For John. Not for me, but for John. He needs you more than I do. I will do my best to look after him but please… Just come back.”

Before I could move, I felt a hand on my shoulder and lips on the shell of my ear.

“You are my friend, Alice.”

END