This is a tie in to .net/s/7647262/1/The_Kerchief_or_Vengeance_for_Irene But you don't need to read it to understand. But it's short, and a one shot. I didn't even write it planning on doing anything else, so it can be taken separately .

The first thought that he had when he came to was suspicion. Then came survival. It was very nearly a disparaging thought. He was alive. No, he reconciled, quite hardly disparaging. As Watson had once said, he liked himself far too well for that.

And then it all rushed back to him, in reverse order. The images came very suddenly, till he was left at the moment when he realized the only viable course of action. It was a split second before Watson had opened the door and, eyes wide in shock, watched him and Moriarty slip soundlessly over the edge and into the falls. Everything after that (or before, as the images came in reverse) was a blur.

Moriarty.

Murderer.

Sherlock knew that he himself had only survived as a result of his preplanning, and a disposition to hoard things that Mycroft told him not to touch, something that he had carried on from childhood.

Yet somehow, it wasn't enough to reassure him that his foe was truly dead. Even though all logic pointed to his ultimate demise, so had logic inferred the same about himself. The method of death was too uncertain for Sherlock to feel relieved.

He had to be sure. If Moriarty lived still, he would also be irresolute as to Sherlock's demise, making it imperative that Sherlock not reveal his survival. Up until that point at which he could be sure that Moriarty was indeed, truly gone forever, he would have to exist as a mere ghost.

His case was not yet closed.

He had some loose ends to tie up, for not only the world's sake, but that of his own integrity, Mr. and Mrs. Watsons' health and… vengeance. For her.

Irene.

The thought of her was… like an ache. One of a thousand scenarios played through his head. The most likely of the bunch. Irene was fond of a certain restaurant, famous for their tea luncheons. She nearly always went there for the midday meal. She had been booked for the afternoon, thus their dinner date, to which she did not arrive.

She had been poisoned, of this he was sure. The Professor had been dabbling, as all men of intellectual merit eventually did those days, in medicinal efforts. If he had managed to isolate a particular strain of Tuberculosis… the possibilities were unfathomable.

And then of course, a whole slew of probable ways he could have prevented the occurrence… damn Schrödinger's cat.

He forcibly put the painful thoughts of her from his mind, thoughts of her sparkling sapphire eyes, and curled auburn locks, and perfect coy smiles, rose petal lips… the way she looked up at him from under long, thick eyelashes, challenging his every move… She was the perfect mystery. How he had longed to try and figure her out…

He shook his head forcing his musings away. They only made his mind a muddle, and in his present situation, Sherlock could not afford to have his thoughts clouded by distractingly, painfully, perfect remembrances of her.

He had to focus on surviving the cold, now that he had managed to survive the fall. It would be fruitless to search for Moriarty's body. One, if he didn't move soon, Sherlock would most certainly freeze to death, and secondly, nothing on his agenda could be accomplished if he died.

And it would be highly irregular of him to leave anything half way finished.

A/N: At this point in time, I find myself in desperate need of a copy of A Biography of Sherlock Holmes, by Baring-Gould. Either that or a copy of The Complete Tales of Sherlock Holmes, the story directly after the Final Problem. If anyone happens to have one, and is willing to look things up for me, could you possibly remind me what name that Holmes uses whilst he searches for the last of Moriarty's criminal empire? The name he uses whilst posing as Irene's violinist/lover? Because I must have it, because there is no way I can write without it. Currently, my copy of the complete tales is lent out to my best friend, and I don't feel like going to the library to put on hold and wait for a copy of Baring-Gould. Or if someone knows an online copy of Baring-Gould, I would squee with happiness, because I write all my Sherlock with Baring-Gould influence. By the way, if you haven't yet realized it, this story contains MAJOR FREAKING SPOILERS FOR A GAME OF SHADOWS! There will be mentions of more than just a certain lovely ladies supposed untimely demise… mentions of the glorious torture scene that I LOVED TO FREKAING DEATH BECAUSE IT WAS WRENCHING MY HEART OUT.

Edit - I now have gotten his last name, Siegerson, from multiple sources, thanks much, but fail to remember if there even was a first name to match? The first chapter is being worked on currently.

Thanks for all the support from the community, and all the favs and reviews and alerts for not only this story, but my three pervious Sherlockian Endeavors.