Sherlock fic: Not a Hero
„But don’t ever think I didn’t care.”
The only witnesses to the whispered words are the wind and a dead body, now rapidly cooling.
He’s discarded the phone on the roof, not daring to utter the words into the device, not daring to let John know and maybe give away too much.
He wishes he could tear his eyes away from John’s face, wishes John could be here, next to him, pulling him away from the ledge, shouting, ranting, providing a way out.
For once he’s so sick of being the genius here, so sick of having all the answers, of being absolutely certain, knowing down to his core, that there is no other solution.
His hands tremble and it’s only the second time in a life time, but he doubts.
Even when trusting all of his own abilities, there’s that glimmer of a possibility that Moriarty has already won, has already played his last card successfully.
Sherlock’s won at every game you can imagine, but winning over a heart has always seemed like an insurmountable obstacle and now that he’s come close, someone else is stacking the deck against him.
He inhales deeply and takes a step forward. No going back now, no apologies and promises.
Just falling and then the thud of a body hitting the pavement.
Hearts break.