"Dead?". It was a question as much as an observation. The realisation stopped even Sherlock in his tracks momentarily. He looked at the figure opposite, reclining laily in a high leather armchair.

"Of course" replied his counterpart. "Don't be ridiculous". The man leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand. He laughed. "No-one can come back from the dead."

"I did" Sherlock found the one fact among all the confusion and chaos.

The other man shook his head. "You had help" he said. "And, Moriarty isn't you". He stood up, adjusted his jacket and walked around the desk. He stood inches from Sherlock and looked straight at him. Sherlock didn't flinch or even blink but instead stared directly back.

"Think about it, Sherlock" he began. "A man shoots himself in the head, with a handgun. The bullet destroys his brain, kills him instantly. He bleeds out across the concrete. How, exactly, do you propose that such a man could survive that?"

In his mind Sherlock was already running through every possible method this could happen, no matter how improbable each scenario might be, in order to find the truth. "A blank bullet" he began, then dismissed it just as equally. "A doppelganger? No. Moriarty likes to control people, he'd never consider actually working with someone else". He rapidly considered all the possible scenarios that could have played out on the rooftop at St Barts, and then came to the only possible conclusion. Moriarty was, after all the games and manipulation, indeed dead.

Then, he had another thought. If that was the correct answer, then who had been sending the messages? The other man smiled.

"Ah" he said. "You want to know it if was me. Well" he continued with a small smile. "That would be telling, wouldn't it?". Walking towards the door, he paused before stepping through, with a final smile that slowly turned into a mocking smirk. "That, my new friend, is for me to know and for you to work out".

The man turned once again and left Sherlock alone with his thoughts in the cold and now empty room.