London 1888

So this is how things were to end. Montague John Druitt, murderer of ladies of the night, member of the oh so powerful five; would die, face down in the Thames.

There was a strange kind of peace to it, floating there. The water above him gently sloshed, and the cold December winds had chilled it to a numbing degree. He wouldn't last much longer, his lungs were already slowly giving out, burning gently.

It was peaceful at least, until he felt a firm hand on his back, yanking him out of the water and onto a hard wood surface, leaving him shivering in the open air.

John coughed up water, soaking the floor of the small boat with the liquid, and peeled long dark hair from his eyes, before turning to glare up at his savior, and the cause of his continuing damnation. The man before him was relatively petit when compared to himself, with a short mop of hair and scraggly beard, and a dark set of eyes.

He heart couldn't help but to skip a beat. Standing before him was the greatest mind Britain had ever known, the kindest heart too. Here was the man he'd pushed out of his confines of the measly law, and nearly destroyed in the process. The man regarded him coolly, before speaking the word that nearly broke his heart.

"John."

"James."

They stared at each other a moment more before John broke the silence, pleading with his friend for not only both their sakes, but that of London.

"You have to let me go James"

"I will, just not like this"

John frowned, and James continued

"I wont let you kill yourself John, not even after all that has happened, all those that you've killed. You've betrayed us. But it's not worth another death."

He was keeping himself cold, not saying the words they both knew to be true. John had betrayed him. His secret lover and his oldest friend. And that wound may never heal. John was thankful for his coldness; it kept this simpler, easy.

"I should just go then," he said, slowly standing up, only to be stopped by James' hand on his chest

"They will hunt you"

"I don't have much of a choice"

Despite the tense situation James couldn't help but to look smug "I do." He stepped forward, grapping the end of a tarp and ripped it aside to reveal what lay below

"James! You didn't!"

"I snatched him from the morgue. He's the same height and weight, same hair and eye. I'll make sure he's under long enough that the two of you are indistinguishable. Now get out of those clothes, you're soaking wet and it's December"

John smiled at the chastening, and gladly changed into the dry clothing James had ready for him.

"You are an angel sent from above James Watson"

"And you are a demon from below Montague John Druitt"

They shared a weak smile of sorts, before James beckoned him away with the wave of a hand

"Go. Before we start bickering like an old married couple"

It was true, any minute now and one of them would burst, the story of heartache and betrayal ruining what could be their very last moment. So John just chuckled and pressed one last soft kiss to his lover's lips, before stepping back and vanishing into thin air.

James stood there for a moment, watching the red sparks where John had stood fade into nothing. This was the first minute of many he'd be without John. And he was determined that those minutes would last until the day he died. Maybe one day he'd forgive him. Forgive this strange dark man who jumped into his life, whisked him off his feet and then let him fall and break into a thousand pieces.

"Goodbye old friend" he murmured and then got to work.

He had a suicide to fake after all; and then his own heart to mend.