They were in St. Bart's; Sherlock was trying to figure out the last piece to Moriarty's puzzle, the final problem. Moriarty was always difficult, but this was different. This was nearing impossible.
His deep thoughts were pierced when John's phone let out an obnoxious ringing. John answered "Hello? Who is this?". There was a short pause before he continued "What? I'm on my way!" John looked like someone had taken all of the air out of him. He turned to Sherlock who had his eye looking in a microscope. "Paramedics, Mrs. Hudson's been shot."
"What, how?" Sherlock said without much inflection in his voice.
"Probably one of the killers you managed to attract. Jesus, she's dying-"John was trembling, his heart racing. His mind immediately turned towards Moriarty and that it had to be his doing. Sherlock hadn't moved from his position hunched over the microscope.
"You go, I'm busy." Sherlock said very calmly. He ceased looking at the microscope lens and looked at a spot on the wall instead. He seemed to be unshaken by the news.
"Busy?" John said incredulously as he paced around the lab.
"Thinking, I need to think." Sherlock didn't move his gaze from on the wall he was staring at.
"Doesn't she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her!"
"She's my landlady." Sherlock seemed almost puzzled as to why John was pressing the matter further.
"She's dying, you machine! Solve this," John called over his shoulder to Sherlock as he stormed out of the lab. "You stay here if you want on your own."
"Alone is what I have, alone protects me." Sherlock said keeping his gaze forward.
"No, friends protect people." John advised him as he turned the door handle and walked out into the hall, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.
John in a blind panic half walked-half ran down the corridors. His eyes were blurring, he was losing his balance. The shock was setting in, but when he reached the end of the corridor he turned the corner and down the hall he saw a familiar figure. The black suit and short dark hair told him exactly who it was, even if he wasn't fully aware of everything else around him. John felt sick to his stomach. None of that show was real. Moriarty was here and he wanted John.
John quickly turned and sprinted down to where he last remembered Molly was. His head was pounding as he reached the door. He silently prayed that Molly would still be in there; it had been over an hour since he last saw her. He pushed open to door and found her with her head down on a lab desk, just as he had been a little less than five minutes ago. "Molly wake up, I need your help!" John basically yelled at her.
She awoke with a stir. Lost to why John was here and not with Sherlock. "What is it John? What's so important?"
"I need a drug." John ordered.
"What? What kind of drug?" Molly said, obviously confused.
"I need a drug that hides my pulse, and for you to take out some of my blood." John said very confident of his decision.
"No, I am not doing this. I'm not letting you take that. There are too many risks!" she warned him.
"What are the risks?" John said.
"Well, it's a poison, not the best thing to inject into your blood stream. Also hiding your pulse could end up stopping your pulse." She said in an informative tone. "John, this could kill you. Why in your right mind do you need this in the first place?"
John stared at her, a plea in his eyes, trying to find the right words to say. Finally he spoke "Moriarty is coming after me." John was trying to speak through the shock, "I saw him in the corridor. He wants to hold me hostage, like he did in the pool. I have a plan, Molly, but I need you."
Molly nodded her head slowly, warily agreeing to help John. "What's the plan?"
35 minutes later John emerged from the lab without Molly. He wandered back towards the corridor where he first saw Moriarty's slim, suit-clad figure. His nervousness would have been obvious to even the most feeble minded. He reached the corridor and did not see him. He continued back up and down the hallways of the Ward, going over the plan he and Molly had devised only minutes before.
There was a garbage truck outside, in front of the hospital. John was to go to the roof, and inject himself with the drug. Molly had altered the drug to activate in his system approximately 7 minutes after injection. Enough time to let Sherlock find him, enough time for Moriarty to be a drama queen. John was to jump into the garbage can, and make his way onto the floor. Molly had placed a bag of John's blood in the garbage truck in case Sherlock wanted to test the blood on the sidewalk to confirm it was John's. But if all went according to plan, Sherlock wouldn't need to.
John walked with a nervous step. If Moriarty jumped out from behind and captured John, the entire plan would be ruined. Luckily, John turned a corner in the corridor and saw a suit-wearing figure on the opposite end of the hall. He walked a few feet more to ensure that Moriarty had seen him. John quickly turned and started the nerve wracking walk to the top of St. Bart's. He went over the plan at least 15 times in his mind. He was ready to leave Sherlock, and at the same time he was letting his nerves get the best of him. The hospital seemed unfamiliar as he fast-walked thoughtlessly towards the stairwell leading to the roof.
He reached the stairwell and turned around to make sure Moriarty was still following him. He saw a flash of black before turning back and pushing the heavy door open. He was met with an empty stairwell; every movement amplified by echoes bouncing off of the walls. He hauled himself up, step-by-step until he was faced with the heavy metal door that opened to the roof. He waited until he heard the other door at the other end open and could hear Moriarty's slow, dangerous footsteps. He pushed the door open with difficulty, not realizing how heavy the door was.
The sun was blinding his eyes. He walked over to the edge of the building and looked down. He could see the garbage truck patiently waiting for his arrival.
John stared down over the side of the building. 25 floors. A lump formed in his throat. He could feel his hands shaking and his heart beat getting increasingly faster.
He reached into his pocket and felt the needle Molly had just prepared for him. He quickly uncapped the needle and carefully inserted it into his wrist, wincing slightly.
John felt his cell phone get heavy in his pocket, its weight suddenly registering on his senses. He reached inside and took out his phone. He flicked through his contacts until the familiar name appeared on the screen- Sherlock. He quickly jammed out a text message.
Come to the St. Bart's roof.
-JW
The moment he pressed the all too familiar send button, he heard the heavy door open and close once again. John slowly turned around to see Moriarty sending a deceitful grin towards him. His expensive black suit and patent leather shoes sent a chill down John's spine. His high sense in fashion and impeccable taste in clothing made him seem untouchable, a pristine museum piece that mustn't and couldn't be touched.
"I didn't expect to see you here." Moriarty said coolly.
"Here I am." John managed to get out. His nervousness was obvious, especially to someone like Moriarty.
"Here, you are." He made his way towards where John was unmoving, walking in a slow, calm, and collected walk.
"What are you planning to do? Am I your puppet again? Why do you insist on using me in your little games against Sherlock?" John's voice had gained more confidence; demanding that Jim give him an answer.
"Oh John, you're a pawn, nothing more than a middle-man. To me and to Sherlock, you're nothing." Moriarty spit out with venom in his voice. John turned his head away from him. He knew that he was so much more to Sherlock then just a middle-man. He was his friend. His only friend.
"You're wrong."
"He has no friends: never has and he never will. You're just his side-kick. Someone who he can take on his little "missions"." He put air quotes around the word missions, his actions dripping with sarcasm.
Suddenly the door was thrown open and Sherlock stumbled out, "John! Step away from him!" Sherlock called out.
"Do what he says John. Don't want to get hurt." Moriarty teased. "Wait, but you don't want Sherlock to die do you?" he looked at John, whose face radiated terror. "I can see you don't. I have a sniper across the street. You see, Sherlock. I want to break you. I want you to be destroyed. You need to know what it's like to be alone after having so much."
Sherlock and John exchanged quick glances. John knew Moriarty was playing him. John did mean something to Sherlock. They revolved around each other, they needed each other. That's what a friendship is, right?
"John, you don't need to do this." Sherlock said slowly.
"Sherlock, I can't stand to see you gone. The world needs Sherlock Holmes, but not John Watson. There is more John Watsons, but there is no one else like you."
"There is no one else like you." Sherlock pleaded as John went towards the edge of the building.
"There are hundreds of people just like me, maybe thousands. Find another; you can't sacrifice your life for mine. Think of all the people you won't be able to save.
"Boys, boys, no need to bicker. John you're easily replaceable, Sherlock here just doesn't want to admit it." Moriarty informed maliciously.
He was playing his mind games, trying to force a wedge in between Sherlock and John, to force John to jump. Someone wasn't coming out of this alive. John walked over to the edge of the roof. He turned to look at Sherlock; he had never seen such raw emotion on the man. A mixture of fear and terror was brushed over his defined features. He was not hiding anything. He was truly scared that he was going to lose the one person that cared about him.
"John, we can figure a way out of thi-" Sherlock started.
"No you wo-ont" Moriarty cut him off in a sing-song voice. "There is no way out of this one boys." He looked pleased with himself, like he had beaten them. He had won this time. "Sherlock, either you die or John dies. Your choice, I'm in a particularly good mood today, seeing as one of you will come out dead. But I would decide before I change my mind." He had a smirk on his lips.
"Jump," Sherlock grunted, staring at the ground, making sure not to make eye contact with John. He couldn't bear to see his face.
"Sh…Sherlock…" John stammered, "Are you sure?" He was confused; one moment ago Sherlock was forbidding him to step anywhere near the ledge, now he was telling him to jump.
"You were right John. The world still needs me. The world needs you too… but..." He trailed off, trying to think of something that wouldn't come out sounding like the world didn't need John Watson anyone.
"Oh, just kill yourself already! We don't need all this mushy shit." Moriarty barked at the pair.
John didn't let Sherlock finish, he walked over towards the edge of the roof. He peered over and saw the truck still in place. His head was beginning to get light headed; the drug was starting to take into effect. For the plan to work, he needed to still be conscious when he landed.
"Good-bye Sherlock." John said as over his shoulder as he stepped up, very carefully, onto the ledge. A single tear rolled down his cheek and onto his jumper.
"John-" Sherlock started but stopped because he didn't have anything new to say. Nothing that would change what was about to happen. His best friend was about to leave him, his first friend, his only friend.
Gone. In a moment everything around him shattered.
"JUMP YOU MORON!" Moriarty screamed at John. John turned his head over his shoulder and shot one glance back towards Sherlock. His eyes red with tears, such pain was never displayed on his face.
John turned around and looked down to the hard concrete sidewalk. He silently prayed that the plan would work.
Slowly he shifted his body weight towards the edge; he quickly lost his balance and started plummeting down towards the ground. John propelled his body forward. Trying to remember what they had taught him in the army training camp about parachuting and jumping from flying things. Everything around his was slowing down; the air rushing past his ears didn't feel so cold. The windows on the building in front of him seemed to blur together. The sidewalk didn't seem so close.
"NO!" Sherlock screamed after him as John's body left his view. He started to run towards where John used to be standing, but was stopped when Moriarty landed his fist square on Sherlock's jaw. Sherlock landed with a thud onto the rooftop, consciousness slipping from his grasp.
John leaned forward a little more and landed on a pile of garbage. He quickly located the bag of his blood that Molly had set out for him. The drug was making its extremely difficult to properly move. But he managed to get out of the truck. He quickly laid the blood strategically on the floor and in his hair. He lay down and the drug took full effect. John blacked out quickly after.
John awoke in the St. Bart's Morgue. The bright lights blinded him for a few moments. Once they adjusted he saw Molly standing by the door.
"Did it work?" John said quietly.
Molly jumped a little in her skin, "Yes, seeing as your still breathing." She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it. She opened again and spoke, "What are you going to do about Sherlock? You can't just leave him."
"I have to Molly; he has to believe I'm dead. I'll… I'll go live with my sister for a bit." He slowly sat up on the gurney. "I'll come back soon. I won't be gone very long. He needs to know I'm really dead before I can come back." He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Astonished that it didn't break from the impact, he reached inside and pulled it out. One new message. He punched in his password and the screen lit up.
How did you do it?
-MH
John stated at the screen; how did Mycroft know he wasn't dead. "Molly…did you tell Mycroft about our plan?"
"Of course not… why would I have told Mycroft?" She said, confused why he was asking such an obscure question. "But why do you ask?"
"He just texted me, he wanted to know how I did it." John said as he furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed.
"How does he know?" Molly said, even more confused than a moment ago.
John's phone buzzed again. The buzzing surprised him, fumbling with the phone. The new message read:
I always know.
-MH
John, desperate for answers, quickly typed out a response.
How though?
-JW
Anthea is coming to pick you up. Explain then.
-MH
He was left staring blankly at his phone. "I think I need to go to the front of the hospital." He said, slightly stunned.
"John, no! What if someone sees you? Or worse, Sherlock! Go through the back."
He shuffled quickly through the hospital, Molly walking ahead of him and signaling if it was safe for him to venture down that hallway. They made it safely to the back parking lot and soon after an all-black luxury car rolled up in front of him. The door opened and he slid himself into the seat. He was met with Mycroft's assistant, Anthea, and they sped off.
"Will you tell me where you're taking me this time?" He muttered, not even bothering to make eye contact.
"Same as always." She replied. John took in the buildings passing him; he wouldn't be back for a long time. London was his home; leaving London was almost as bad as leaving Sherlock. His whole life was here. They reached the gentlemen's club and john slid out of the car. Anthea didn't even bother getting out of the vehicle, he closed the door and the driver drove off.
John wandered inside; the air was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of fine brandy. There were older men sitting on easy chairs all around the lobby. John spotted Mycroft Holmes sitting in one of the chairs. John reached out to tap him on his shoulder but Mycroft caught him with his words before he could tap him.
"Yes, John. I see you've risen from the dead." He said sarcastically, looking up from his paper and at John.
"How did you know?" John questioned.
"You would never leave my younger brother." He stressed the last two words, adding venom into the words.
"I just did." John corrected, he looked above Mycroft's still sitting head; the Army doctor didn't want to face another Holmes for a long time.
"But not permanently. You plan on going back. You could never leave him forever." Mycroft said smoothly. John was perplexed; Mycroft would have passed for telepathic with the information he somehow possessed. "I would imagine you're not staying in London."
"I'm going to go see if I can stay at my sister's. Maybe I'll come back one day, not anytime soon though." John stated. Who knows if he would ever come back. John just wanted to leave already. The pain of the city, of possibly seeing his best friend, alone again, was too much. "I had a will. I left everything to Sherlock. I know there isn't much." He said trailing off.
"I'll make sure your will is carried through." Mycroft said, not sounding very convincing.
"Please Mycroft; I want him to know, even if he doesn't realize it, how much I cared." John plead.
"John, you have my word. It will be done."