What Lies Beneath (Sherlock (BBC) Fan-Fiction)**Under Heavy Rewrites**

Chapter 22; The Game is Over

“Its all true, John.” Sherlock said, uncle had put him on speaker phone.

“No, no I refuse to believe that.” Uncle said.

Tears found there way to my eyes, but I didn’t my best to hold them back.

“I made up Jim Moriarty, the crimes, everything.” Sherlock said.

“Nope, your not a fake.” Uncle said.

“Goodbye John.” Sherlock said, throwing his phone behind him.

Then, I waited, watching in horror, as the man I claimed to love, spread his arms, and fell from the rooftop of Bart’s hospital.

There was nothing I could do to stop it.

I screamed in horror, as Sherlock hit the ground. I collapsed into the wet ground, as uncle ran over, almost overcome with shock and disbelief.

Uncle was nearly knocked over by the crowd of people rushing to Sherlock’s body.

Paramedics cleared the way, as they lifted Sherlock onto the gurney.

Then, I blacked out.

__

I awoke, lying on a hospital bed, with a wet rag lying over my face.

Charlie sat at my bedside, her face lightened up a bit when she noticed me awake.

“Good morning, dear.” She said.

“Where’s uncle?” I asked.

“Outside, speaking with Mycroft and Lestrade.” She said.

We sat in silence, but the wonderment was nagging at me.

“Is Sherlock really….?” I stopped, unable to finish.

Charlie looked at me, her eyes sad, before she nodded slowly.

“Oh…” I said, but it was barely a whisper.

I didn’t know what to do, whether to cry, scream, or kick the wall.

So, I did nothing.

Uncle John finally came into the room, and Charlie excused herself.

“What happened?” I asked.

Uncle looked at me, I could tell he had been trying to hide the fact that he had been crying.

“Molly performed the autopsy herself. It was defiantly Sherlock. Lestrade is going to try and clear Sherlock’s name, but for now, he’s all over the news as the ‘Fake Sherlock Holmes’ so I suggest not watching the Telly. And as far as Mycroft, we spoke about…funeral arrangements.” He said, sadly.

Suddenly, Sherlock’s words echoed in my mind.

“Alone is what I have, alone protects me.”

 But he was so very wrong.

And selfish, but let’s not speak ill of the dead.

“Moriarty actually won, didn’t he?” I asked, quietly.

“Honestly, I have no idea. Moriarty was found dead, on the roof of Bart’s where Sherlock jumped. But we will never really know what happened on that rooftop yesterday morning.” He said.

“Wait, yesterday? Ive been asleep that long?” I asked.

“Yes, but I’m surprised that you weren’t out longer. But since your awake, let’s just go home.” Uncle said, helping me up.

We went to Baker Street, which now felt cold and empty.

We walked in, and I instantly felt the mood of the place shift.