The Sound of Settling [BBC Sherlock, Johnlock, first kiss]

6. The rooftop of St. Bart's. [The Reichenbach Fall]

Sherlock stares down at John from the ledge.

"Hello?" He hears John's voice in his ear. (Comforting.)

"John."

He tells John to stay there. John must stay right there for this to work.

John looks up at him from afar, and Sherlock realizes that this will be more difficult than he had thought. He can't speak without stumbling over his words. "I... I can't come down, so we'll... we'll just have to do it like this."

He has analyzed this scenario endlessly, from every angle, but only the physical aspects. Has not thought through about, prepared for, the emotions. (Not in the habit of taking sentiment into account. Usually not relevant.)

"What's going on?" John is anxious. (Sentiment is always relevant, with John.)

"An apology," he tells him. "It's all true." (Not an apology, actually. Nearly the opposite; something that he wants to apologize for.)

John is confused, in pain, distressed. More so the more Sherlock talks. (Not linear relationship. Exponential?) Sherlock turns and stares at Moriarty's body, willing there to be something he missed, something that means he doesn't have to go through with this. There isn't. He turns back.

"I'm a fake."

"Sherlock..."

The tears start out fake, fake as his words. Fake tears to protect a real friend.

They've arrived at the vital part, the part where he must get John to listen and follow instructions. "I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

John tells him to shut up. (Twice.) Doesn't believe. "The first time we met... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister-right?" John pleads.

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could." Such conviction.

Somewhere, the tears have become real. (Anomaly. He never cries.)

What did he do to deserve the unshakable faith of John Watson? That has ever been a mystery. Always been part of the undeniable attraction of the man.

Not that John's greatness is limited to his loyalty. Among his other talents (a non-comprehensive list, but one in development since that first night at Angelo's), he is skilled at both preserving and taking life, and has good judgment about when to deploy both talents. He makes Sherlock think of new things. (Not just a conductor of light, after all-a refractor.) And he makes Sherlock a better person.

He wants to be a better person now, to stop hurting John. He can see how bad it is already, and how much worse it will get. (85% chance of psychosomatic limp returning.) He wants to let him know that he doesn't mean it, that none of this is real.

"I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

Those last words are the closest he can get to revealing the truth. He knows they're insufficient, in context. But, in the end, he is unwilling to prevent John's pain if it would mean John's death. Not a real choice.

John has closed his eyes, is shaking his head. "No. All right, stop it now." He starts to approach the hospital.

"No!" Frantic. Protect him. "Stay exactly where you are. Don't move."

And John trusts him. Again. (Undeserved.) John would be better off if he had never trusted Sherlock. Had been like the others. (Sherlock would be worse off. So much worse.) "All right."

John is holding his hand up, toward Sherlock as he says it. Sherlock finds himself stretching out his arm as well.

Who knew he could hurt so much even before the fall? Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. (Too late.) (Much.)

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

Listen to me, he wants to say. Listen as I tell you all that you are to me. Friend. Trusted partner. Source of inspiration. Listen as I tell you that I will never finish solving the mystery of all the reasons I care for you. (And never want to.)

Sherlock says none of this. Wants to, but recognizes the selfishness of that wish. He will be disappearing for a long time. (Forever? Possible. However long it takes to ensure John's safety.) He will be causing John pain. He does not want to cause him even more.

He still hovers on the edge of confession, even though it's not rational. He has never fought with himself so much. John, you make me veer toward irrationality. It should be an insult. It isn't.

Instead, he says, "This phone call-it's, er... It's my note. It's what people do, don't they-leave a note?"

John's head shakes. His voice shakes. "Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, John."

John is still protesting as Sherlock spends a long last moment staring at him.

I love you. I love our life together. I want more of you, of together, of everything. He says it all, only in his head.

He settles for protecting John. Protecting him from everything, including the bewildering depths of his emotions and the accompanying pain and counterfactuals (losing what-might-have-been is turning out to be almost worse than losing what-was). He knows he will hold onto these emotions tightly, turning them over in his mind, as he spend the next years-the rest of his life, if need be-hunting down Moriarty's network, protecting John.

John will never know.

He stares at John. Memorizes him. (Again. Never finished.) Falls.