So, I actually wrote this as an assignment for my Honors English class. And as short as it may be, I'm rather pleased with it. So here is my alternate ending to The Great Game...reviews are greatly appreciated as always!

John Watson stepped into the artificially lit room. He surveyed the walls, stocked with towels, and looked at his distorted reflection in the in-ground swimming pool. He slowly walked around the space, outwardly completely calm. He slid his hand into his coat pocket and nervously fingered the gun inside. All of a sudden, a door opened with a clanging noise and a man stepped out, his back facing towards John. Then he turned around.

"Sherlock," John whispered, almost as a gasp.

"John," Sherlock solemnly nodded as a greeting.

"What…" John looked around in confusion and lowered his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Absolutely…nothing," He opened his large coat to reveal the bomb planted there.

"Then I take it you didn't go out because it was your turn to buy milk," said John shakily after a terrified moment of silence.

Sherlock said nothing and continued to remain quiet and perfectly still as the door opened again and another man stepped out.

"And this must be the famous Dr. Watson," he grinned. "First Sherlock, now you…" All expression faded from his face. "I wonder what will happen next."

"Something worth making the front page of The London Times, if I can help it," John said and ran to Sherlock. Before the man could do anything to stop him, John ripped the coat off of Sherlock and threw the bomb at the man's feet. John's gun now pointed at him. He simply laughed, applauded and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Good!" He exclaimed. "Well done, doctor."

"Now tell me who you are," John said.

"John—" Sherlock began in warning.

"Oh, can't you use your own deduction skills to figure it out?" The man questioned.

"I've never met you, and yet you know me and Sherlock, and—…" John's voice trailed off and he then said under his breath, "Moriarty." Without thinking, he lowered his gun in the direction of the bomb and fired.

It was silent. The bomb was a fake.

John immediately took action, doing the only thing he could think of. He pulled on Sherlock's arm and ran faster than he ever had before, the echo of Moriarty's laugh ringing in his ears. Neither knew how far they ran, but they stopped at a Chinese restaurant after what felt like an hour. The two were silent at first as they caught their breath.

"You lied," John rubbed his side.

"How do you mean?" Sherlock asked, panting.

"You said you were getting milk," he said.

"I only lied to protect you."

"And in doing so nearly killed yourself." Sherlock tried to protest but John cut him off. "What are we doing to do?"

"Talk to the real police; probably my brother, as well," he replied calmly.

"And us?"

"We go on as normal. We look for a new case and solve it."

"Just promise never to lie to me again, will you?" John waited for a reply. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded once, somewhat half-heartedly. "Let's go," he said.

They walked home together, both silent but both terrified, no matter how well they hid it. They returned home and lay sleepless in their rooms, wondering about the outcome of the lives of two ordinary London flatmates; two ordinary friends: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.