Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. If anyone has any questions or would just like to chat my inbox is open! :D (Or drop me a line on tumblr! p-r-o-x-y/tumblr/com) I would really love to get some feedback to help improve my writing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing... no really, nothing. It's quite sad. Owners are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and I assume chaps at the BBC.

Chapter One

The Morgue

The wind bit at her face from the top of the car park. And clouds were beginning to open up as small droplets hit her face. Taking deep breaths she disrobed from her over-sized black coat. Chills began to rise on her skin. Positioning herself she looked out amongst the buildings. 'What office was it again?' she thought. Then she spotted him, his back was to her but his salt and pepper hair was unmistakable. Leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk Greg Lestrade relaxed while reading a case file. Little did he know the danger he was in, or the headache he was about to experience.

Sighing the dark haired girl started unpacking her bag. Locking the pieces into place, it was time to work. Breathing deeply she set the large sniper rifle on the garage roofs edge, setting the sight directly at her target. She watched as he spoke on the phone, laughed with colleagues, ate a copious amount of donuts, and read files. She was beginning to get quite cold, but her coat didn't make for the best military gear, plus she would hate to ruin it, it was a gift after all. Given to her by her employer who had impeccable taste in fashion. She watched the detective inspector for what seemed like hours, until finally her phone rang. Answering without looking at the screen she relaxed from her weapon.

"Thank god, my neck was beginning to kill me!" she answered. "So is it done?"

"Yes ma'am" said a voice she didn't expect. Taking the phone away from her face she looked at the name, it was not who she had anticipated.

"Why are you calling me Tom? Where is Jim?"

"About that, it is done, but there have been complications."

"Am I blowing the inspectors head off or not!" she yelled into the phone.

"No, Sherlock jumped he's dead. But we have had causalities." Tom said his voice barely above a whisper.

"What?"

"We've had casualties' ma'am." He stated again.

"Tom speak quickly, what happened?" irritation was palpable in her tone.

"Our man in the building across the street was killed, the one for John Watson, shot, we're investigating. And ummmm…" Tom stammered "He's dead. James Moriarty is dead." Silence fell over the phone as the information sunk in. Suddenly the girl was filled with a rage she hadn't felt in a long time. Taking the rifle in hand again she aimed at Lestrade, studying his office, she gaged just how many people she could kill before they even knew what was happening. Then just as sudden as the feeling was there it was replaced with a want. She didn't want to kill a meaningless group of people. She wanted to destroy those who mattered most. His name being John Watson.

"Seb, are you still there?" Tom's voice rang out from the discarded phone.

"I'm on my way; I will be at Bart's Hospital in 20 minutes. You will explain everything to me there." She said, quickly hanging up before she received an answer. Disassembling her weapon her hands shook, her fingers having difficulty maneuvering the small elements of her rifle. Packing her bag quickly she left the roof like she was never there.

Bart's hospital was in an uproar. The police and on lookers scattered the area, congesting the streets. The press were just beginning to arrive and the news was ringing out. 'Famous detective Sherlock Holmes is dead.' Making her way to the adjacent building Seb pushed through the crowd. Her mind was on one purpose she didn't care about anything else. Ascending the stair case with a determined speed, she found Tom standing over their fallen comrade. Other team members hovered around the scene; however they chose to scatter at the sight of their dark haired, ill-tempered commander.

"What happened?" she asked while looking out the window. Luckily no one was interested in this death; though it would have made for an interesting scene.

"I don't know. I arrived when I was told, and found him. What do you think?" Tom said ruffling his ginger curls.

"I don't care about him, what happened to Moriarty?" she said sitting down upon the window seal. Nearly propping her feet up on the fallen body. She leveled Tom with a hard stare.

"It's complicated because people got here so quickly, but it appears he killed himself." Tom said fiddling with his coat.

"No, he wouldn't do that." She said plainly. "He thinks too highly of himself."

"I'm just telling you what I've heard; I guess we won't know for sure until the medical reports are available." Seb gritted her teeth, finding it hard to believe. How would the morning have gone differently if she would have been more firm with him? If she has insisted that she be the one at the hospital. How would have things played out differently. 'She would know what the fuck was going on' she thought. 'And possibly dead.' Looking down to the body at her feet, it suddenly seemed strange Moriarty's insistence about the layout for the day.

"What about him though? He certainly didn't kill himself. Unless you can somehow magically shoot yourself in the back." Tom said smiling at the little joke he had made.

"Mycroft's pawns, it had to be. Who else would walk up behind someone with a much larger gun and shoot them." Seb answered frustrated. She was tired of not knowing. She wanted answers. "Pack up his gear and meet me at the hospital at midnight."

"Why?" Tom said after her, as she retreated down the stairwell from which she just came. Her black coat flowing after her.

"Because he" she said pointing to the corpse "was the only witness other than Moriarty to Sherlock's demise, and since they are in fact both dead we don't actually know anything then do we. That plus Mycroft's involvement doesn't exactly spell out a job well done now does it? I need confirmation."

"Confirmation." Tom repeated.

"Yeah, or I start target practice." She said gliding down the stairs leaving Tom to clean up the mess. How he was going to move a body with this much media around he wasn't sure.

As night fell and people surrendered to the cold, choosing warm pubs and good company. The street was blissfully silent. Rounding the corner in a white lab coat, her long hair pulled back in a tight braid, Seb made her way into the hospital. Looking like one of the unfortunate, doomed to work a graveyard shift. She smiled at the security guard on duty.

"Crazy day I heard. Did you see any of the action?" she said to the very tired looking chap.

"Yeah I heard we have Sherlock Holmes in our morgue. If I was less of a gent I would go check it out." He replied a sick smile spread across his expression.

"Really, I thought it was just gossip!" she replied playing shocked.

"Yeah and some other chap they found on the roof is down there too, they said he shot himself. Tragic business it is." At the man's words, Seb felt a strained smile reach her lips. Tapping the desk she sighed deeply.

"Well best get to work, can't be late can I. Have a goodnight." Nearly running down the corridor she walked until she found the direction she wanted. The morgue, housed in the belly of the building was four floors beneath her. Taking the stairs by twos she raced down. Only once having to adjust the pistol and silencer that hung just under her lab coat.

The passageway was eerily silent and dark. Walking as quiet as possible she made her way to the double doors. The large sign saying MORGUE in bold print separated her from the truth, a truth she still wasn't precisely prepared for. Taking a deep breath she braced herself. Suddenly she felt a hand grip her shoulder. Pulling her gun from its harness in what appeared to be milliseconds, she pointed the weapon in her startled assailants face, cocking the hammer back as she did.

"WOAH it's just me!" Tom yelled throwing his hands up in front of his face, dropping his duffle bag with a loud thud. "You told me to meet you here remember."

"Sorry" she said holstering her weapon. "This place gives me the creeps."

"What now? What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"I need you to go find records, and once you have located them, destroy them." She said with a wide smile. "Also I need you to find our bosses personal belongings, namely his mobile phone."

"Got it." He said pumping his fist. Picking up his bag and straightening his own lab coat. He practically skipped down the corridor, suddenly looking like a five year old, not a man that could easily kill people. Sighing Seb mentally prepared herself to enter the morgue again. The room was dark, save for the light that flooded in from the observatory windows, and cold. Placing her bag down on the empty dissection table, she removed a flashlight.

She needed to work quickly less be discovered but as she starred at the 20 metal doors that separated her from the dead, she didn't want to move. She had no fear of the dead, hell she had seen more dead bodies than she could count, most by her own doing. But she didn't want to find out the truth. Walking over to the first door she pulled it open. Inside laid a dark bag, its occupants figure unrecognizable. Taking hold of the large zipper she pulled quickly exposing a ghostly blue and white face. It was an old woman. Sighing she moved to the next, and then the next, each locker containing a nameless person of no interest. Gritting her teeth Seb moved to the last row.

'This had to be it, they had to be here.' She thought. Pulling the last casket open no body bag was present. Stepping back she examined the wall, 18 bodies were rotting before her, and 18 bodies that meant nothing to her. They weren't here, Sherlock or Moriarty. 'Where else do you put a dead body in a hospital' she thought sarcastically to herself. Frustrated she shoved each locker closed loudly, no longer caring if anyone came to investigate. Because if they did, her mood would surely insure they received a lead parting gift.

Sighing she sat down on the morgue slab, the cool metal stinging her thighs from under her short skirt. Silence carried on. Determined to wait for Tom to return she let her mind wander. That was until she heard faint breathing behind her. Slowly she moved for her gun, standing quickly and aiming in the direction of the sound.

"Oh it looks like someone is happy to see me." rang out a deep, yet playful voice from the dark. "Did you miss me?" Shocked Seb didn't move. She didn't lower her weapon even as the man she knew all too well emerged from the dark. Wearing a perfectly tailored grey suit, he looked never better, with his hair slicked back against his head.

"Sebastian please, put down the gun." He said extending his arms out, in a mock surrender.

"Don't call me that. You know I don't like it." She finally replied, setting the gun down on the table but not putting it away. Sighing she tried to relax.

"So you're not dead then." Seb said plainly, trying to keep all emotion from her voice.

"Just a bit of fun really. Why? You weren't worried were you?" he said smiling as he jumped up to sit on the slab.

"No I was just worried about my last pay check. You know job hunting for mercenaries can be quite difficult." She joked. Jumping up to sit next to him she scrutinized him. He looked even happier than he did the morning before, which was truly terrifying. "What has you in such a good mood? Not being dead?"

"The game." He answered with a wicked smile.

"What about it?" she asked.

"Oh my dear Seb, it has just gotten a whole lot more interesting." He said taking her hand in his and kissing the top of it. "Death really does open up so much more fun than one would think."

"Really?" she replied as his hand moved up her arm to her exposed neck. Slowly his fingers encircled her, gripping her throat firmly. Inhaling sharply he slammed her down against the table, his hand still on her throat while the other found the hem of her skirt. Hovering above her he whispered in her ear, the heat from his breath making her quiver.

"Oh yes. Revenge and heartbreak it will be so much fun. We will let them think they've won. Let them think we are gone. And when life is pleasant once again we will strike from the dark. We will watch their world crumble. I will win this game. Sherlock won't know what hit him." he laughed. Taking his knee he spread her thighs, resting between them. She felt his excitement.

"Sherlock's not dead either then?" Seb asked.

"No no, some scheme with the Ice Man." He said pulling her firmly against him. "Thought they had outwitted me."

"Really in a morgue?" she said.

"What?" he mocked offended. "You'll have a story to tell."

To Be Continued.

Thanks for reading!