"I couldn't bear the idea of you being dead. For three years I thought every day would be my last. So many times I stared at my gun, the knife, the rope, the roof. But I realised how stupid it would be to take my own life. So stupid because I knew you were alive. Out there. Somewhere. But you still never came. So I decided to look for a way to lure you back here. What way better than this?" John Watson smirked, knife in hand, a pile of dead bodies at his feet. "Welcome back, Sherlock."

Sherlock stared in silence, the shock flowing through his vines like ice. He knew that someone was trying to get his attention but he would never have guessed that it would be John. His John. Stupid, kind, normal John.

"You should've been fine," Sherlock muttered, knowing that Mycroft had men watching all the people from his past life. "This should never have happened to you."

A cold laugh filled the air, one that shouldn't have been coming from those lips.

"Your brother never suspected a thing, sitting atop his throne, playing with pawns. No, he was the easiest to elude." The icy voice responded, judging the weight of the knife in his hand. "Now Lestrade, as idiotic as you make him out to be, he knew something was up. Once Molly was disposed of, he was on full alert. Trying to find some evidence of her killer. There was none." He informed as if it were the headline in the paper. "No, I had been long gone. Never leaving a trace except those for you to find. I haven't told you yet, have I. She was my first." He chuckled ominously. "My first victim. It was quick, she didn't feel a thing. The knife went straight through the back of the neck, the spine and trachea severed. She was probably dead before she hit the ground."

Sherlock's whole body went still, becoming aware of the blood seeping into his shoes and the slight stench of rotting bodies. John had completely changed over the last two years when Sherlock was playing dead.

"You didn't have to do this," Sherlock stated, his breath becoming infrequent.

"Oh, but you don't understand my dear Sherlock. I needed to do this. I needed to right the wrong in my life. When you left I had nothing. Not even Mrs Hudson understood. The flat stained the same if you're wondering. I've been living there still. Your bedroom gets quite a draft at night, did you notice that?" he inquired, the knife moving from hand to hand.

"Get to the point." Sherlock snapped, looking to find some of the old John he knew and loved.

John nodded and looked Sherlock in the eye "Ah Sherlock, so impatient. I suppose I have been dragging on in the slight. Alright, let's get this over with."

Sherlock remained silent as the person before him pulled a gun from the waistband of his trousers. Staying frozen in the maniacal man's gaze, his eyes flickering in all directions trying to find a way out. Backed against a wall with his best and only friend pointing a gun at his face.

"You don't want to do this, John." Sherlock's velvet voice filling the cavern.

"The man you left behind two years ago is not me. You don't know me anymore, Sherlock." Johns replied, the gun not moving in the man's hands.

The silence was quenched by the sound of a gunshot. The body slumped to the floor with a muffled thud.

"Now you can't leave me ever again." John laughed gleefully, the gun moving to his own head and the sound of a gunshot filled the cavern once more.