John felt the quiet, unassuming pat on his shoulder before he heard the voice. "Excuse me." It was the voice of the last man he wanted to hear from. John's head shot up, snarling at the image of Jim Moriarty, still dressed in those stupid jeans and shirt and stupid red cardigan, like it made him any less Jim Moriarty and any less dangerous. Sherlock's dead body on Molly Hooper's autopsy table was the proof of that.

"Came to gloat?" John snarled. "What more could you possibly want? He's dead already!"

"I know," said the voice again, soft, still as Richard Brooke. "I'm sorry."

"Stop lying!" John hissed, looking around for witnesses or cameras, or that bitch Kitty Riley. He didn't see anyone. No one was even paying attention to the little bench sitting outside the morgue.

"May I sit down?" again with the soft, unassuming voice.

"Oh please," John said, holding out his hand to welcome the other man, though his tone couldn't have been more sarcastic.

"I'm very sorry for what happened to your friend Dr. Watson," the soft voice said. He cast his eyes to the adjacent wall, not looking at John at all. "It's not as if there weren't other losses as well."

"What, you lost your greatest rival?" John spat.

"No, my brother," the voice said. Wide brown eyes cast over at John. "I'm very sorry for what my lie did… Jim didn't tell me what it would do… but then I didn't ask. I am so sorry."

"What the hell are you on about?" John asked, utterly confused. He would have snapped at the man for playing Richard Brooke again, except that he'd said 'Jim'.

"I'm really not Jim Moriarty. I really am an actor called Richard Brooke."

"Bullshit," John said.

"It's true," he said. He looked at John for just a minute before looking away. "The lie was that Jim Moriarty wasn't real."

"Yes, you're clearly not real."

"Richard Brooke is my stage name," the man said, glancing at John with his large brown eyes again for just a second. "My name, my birth name anyway, is Richard Moriarty… Jim Moriarty's younger twin."

"Excuse me, what?" John asked, cocking his head to the side.

The man smiled, big and sad. "I know, sounds insane, sounds like a lie. I understand if you don't believe me." His fingers tapped nervously in his knee. Sherlock would have recognized it as the 'code' Moriarty left in his apartment. John only saw it as a nervous habit. Richard saw it as move he'd copied from his brother for his last big act.

"I have no reason to believe you."

"Exactly," the man said, turning to look at John in earnest. "But I really am Richard Brooke. Jim called me… a month ago… he called me and said that if I'd do one big act for him that I would be free of him forever. I jumped at the chance… I just didn't expect it to be like this."

"Sherlock is dead because of you."

"In part, I will admit… I will carry that guilt forever, I'm sure," he said. "Though, more blame lays with Jim I'm afraid. He always laughed at me for believing in God, but I doubt he's laughing now… though maybe," Richard said, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He slumped down a bit. He looked like just a normal man. "Probably laugh his ass off in the beginning, because he didn't expect it… I really hate the thought, you understand?"

"No," John said, completely missing what this man was talking about.

"My brother's dead, Dr. Watson. They sent people up to the roof to see if there was any evidence about why he jumped… and they found Jim's body," he said. His voice was so steady, not that there wasn't emotion in it, very complicated emotion. "They recognized his face from the trial and from the article Ms. Reilly put out. They contacted her to try and get in contact with my family. She called my phone, not believing I was dead. I'm not sure when I'll tell her I had a brother… I rather hate telling her. Maybe I'll tell someone else," he mused out loud.

"I don't understand," John said. He was following all the words. He understood, it was just hard to integrate.

"Jim Moriarty was my big brother," Richard said, looking over at John. Richard had Moriarty's face, his voice, his body, everything. He just seemed too… kind. He was too unassuming, too sweet to be Jim Moriarty.

"He got you to play yourself to tell a lie?" John asked, trying to understand.

"My brother has always been… very cruel. I was the first person he practiced taking apart. He's the reason I became an actor… I'm a better actor than he will ever be, because he never had to hold up to his own scrutiny," Richard said, looking over at John. He was still leaned against the wall, but he'd dragged his knee up his chest, holding it in place with his hands. "He didn't hire me to play myself. He hired me to play him playing me. It is possibly the hardest role I've ever had… likely my last after this mess."

"I'm sorry," John said, not sounding it at all.

Richard smiled. "People are selfish, we think about ourselves first it takes extraordinary others to make us think of them first," he said. "My brother offered me a deal, because this had to be perfect. Not even Sherlock Holmes could realize there was a brother. It had to be perfect. It was perfect, a lie hidden in a lie. Everything else was true, so it became easy to swallow. Sherlock Holmes is a fact, but the rest is real, so people will believe it. It's told by Richard Brooke, the actual Richard Brooke… the only lie about him being that he's not Jim Moriarty."

"He's only playing the part," John said. "That was you there, that night."

"And it was my brother up on the roof," Richard said. "I'm so… so sorry Dr. Watson."

"Why are you telling me this?" John asked, taking a really good look at Richard Brooke, the man who's lie had helped to kill Sherlock Holmes.

"Because I thought someone should tell you that Jim was dead," Richard said. "It seemed kinder than to not let you know."

"You've told me," John snapped. "You can go now."

"I told you," Richard said. "Jim was discovered on the roof… they need someone to confirm the body," he said quietly. He went completely silent, looking away.

They sat in silence for a long time, neither looking at the other. John wondered if anyone would mourn the death of Jim Moriarty besides his brother. He wasn't even sure that Richard was mourning Jim Moriarty. He seemed very sad, but Richard Brooke was still Moriarty's brother, and John didn't exactly trust their emotions. Richard had admitted that he was a better actor than his brother.

"Dr. Watson."

Both of their head's shot up as Mycroft Holmes came around the corner. John was about to stand and punch Mycroft for even daring to show up. He felt a firm, steadying hand on his knee, and realized that Richard Brooke was holding him back. There wasn't even a lot of force, but John knew he wasn't going to stand.

"Mr. Holmes," Richard said, standing instead. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, making him look even more unassuming than he did before. Jim Moriarty looked like that. He was easy to underestimate. The stance made John wary. Mycroft clearly noted it too, because he shifted, just a bit. John wouldn't have even realized that Mycroft was on guard, except that he knew the Holmes brothers too well.

"Mr. Brooke." Mycroft says.

"I want my brother's phone back," Richard says, holding out his hand. He smiled pleasantly. John is impressed by the balls this type of move would take, especially since everything in Richard's stance indicates that he knows exactly who Mycroft Holmes is.

"You will receive the person affects your brother had on his person at the time of his death when the investigation is finished, as is policy," Mycroft said.

"Yes, but I know you have Jim's phone right now, in your left pocket, because your hand keeps going to it absentmindedly because you aren't used to it being there," Richard said. His tone was very polite. "I can always call the guards and say you stole from the deceased, in the middle of an investigation. I'm sure you can clean it up, but it'll probably be more hassle than you wish."

"Since you seem to understand the situation so well, you do well to know that your brother's activities have been under investigation."

"My brother never keep anything very important on his phone, nothing someone could hack into," Richard said. "Besides that, you'll never be able to get in without the password."

"Do you have the password?" Mycroft asked.

"I have my password," Richard said. "My brother's phone please."

To John's surprise, Mycroft reached into his pocket and produced the plain black phone, dropping it into Richard's hands. Richard keyed in a combination before pulling his phone out from his pocket. His phone was much more beaten and old, but it was compatible enough for Richard to copy the data from Jim's phone to his own. He handed Mycroft the phone back after that.

"Did you get what you needed?" Mycroft asked

"People need to be contacted by Jim's death," Richard said simply. "I got the numbers I needed. You're not going to find them, don't bother trying to. Even if you do fine them, they people I contact will have changed their numbers by then," Richard said.

"Of course," Mycroft said, slipping the phone back in his pocket.

"Have you seen him?" Richard asked.

"Yes."

"Are you sure it's him?"

"We'll running tests for a while. You may have the body when we're finished," Mycroft said. "You'll want a proper funeral, of course."

"The last thing I can do to piss him off, I suppose," Richard said, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft said, looking at John, who finally stood. "They'll let you see him now."

"You saw him first."

"Immediate family," Mycroft said. "I'm sorry," he said softly. John simply glared at him. He moved passed Richard Brooke and Mycroft Holmes, going to see the body of his best friend.

A/N: Because Russia is apparently some kind of weird place sans internet in intelligible places, I'm currently sitting on a pillow on my roommate's desk, holding my laptop on the window so I can piggyback off someone's wifi (I think it's the boy's in our group…. I chose to believe that anyway. I don't feel at all guilty about that). This means that I can get all kinds of weird ideas while sitting Sherlock-style in odd places.

I read a couple of Richard Brooke is Moriarty's twin stories…. And I'm just like in love with the idea. I'm adopting Richard my very own now. He shall live in my head with my other adopted characters. I've finally found my fantasy foothold into this series (after like 3 months of just writing fanfiction to try and get connected with the series.) Still going the MorMorMol one, no worries about that…. But I want to write this Richard! He's adorable. I keep having people pinch his cheeks in my head. He hates it, and he flashes-Jim when he gets really pissed, but he can't hold it worth shit. Gah! Richard, I loves you so much! He also dances to Panic! At the Disco, and hates me because he likes them… I'm just too in love with him.

This is also in my continuing theme of writing characters different every time I put them in a fanfiction… just because. You'll notice Molly in "I Tried to Spare You" is very different from in "Sharing Toothpaste", as is Sebastian. Richard in this is very different from "Toothpaste" Richard… just so, so much!

Also, how much do I hate Kitty Reilly? SO very much! Every time I see The Fall I end up hating her because she doesn't get smacked at the end. Can she have a fall of her own at the beginning of season three? I sincerely and honestly loathe her.