So, it was over, finally over. Samaritan has been defeated and the machine has survived, but at a cost that even Harold hadn't reckoned on all of it. So many lives lost, some harder to bear than others. Greer was dead; he felt no remorse over his demise. The remaining Samaritan operatives were returning to their former lives now that they were released from its grip.
He was sad that Root hadn't survived, though the machine had taken on her voice so that was a little comfort. Grace was safe in Italy, he wondered how she would react when he showed up, if he showed up he corrected himself. And John… his death was the hardest to bear. John had sacrificed himself so that Harold could live, but he wasn't sure he wanted to anymore.
He busied himself at his desk at the university. Before he did anything else he wanted to get rid of the Professor alias, it was just too painful to continue with it and now that Samaritan was gone he could have access to his money again, small comfort to be a billionaire once more. But he would gladly give away every last penny if he could have John back. Professor Whistler would retire to the country somewhere; where no one would think to look for him.
He looked around the small office that had been his for such a short time. He sighed; John would visit him at lunch time if he was free bringing food and tea. Sometimes he would come in the mornings as he was going off shift at the precinct. He fondly remembered the lovemaking that had gone on in that office; trying to be quiet so that people passing by the office door wouldn't hear them had sometimes proved difficult. He stroked the desktop, smiling, fondly remembering John semi naked on his back on the desk as Harold had thrust into his body. He remembered fevered groping and blow jobs (given and received), the hugs and kisses and the warm weight of John in his arms. But never again.
Stiffly he stood and packed the remaining things he was taking with him into his bag. There was one last thing to pack, his answering machine. It wasn't state of the art, nor would it be particularly useful anymore but he couldn't leave it behind.
Later in his home as he sat by the fireside he connected the machine to his computer, and down loaded the single message that had remained on it. The message meant everything to him, reminding him of what he had lost, of who he had lost.
The voice that filled the silence of the room, as he played back the message, said 'Are you there Finch?'
Listening to John's low raspy voice, a sob caught in Harold's throat, tears rolling down his face, as he whispered his constant reply, 'Always Mr Reese'