"Well then, I guess you will have to make the choice," Moriarty smiled viciously. "His life…" he pointed to the distance, to wherever his partner was. His eyes followed that pointed finger, looking into the distance, past the many walls of the maze, his heart beating as wildly as his breath hitched. "… or yours?"
His eyes, once so scared, now so serene, looked Moriarty in the eyes. He was so sure of himself now; his clenched fists were no longer tight and pained, his whole body ready for the oncoming danger. He wasn't going to let this happen to him, never. Moriarty would have to walk right through his dead body. He bit his lips, before letting his arms rise to either side of his body.
"Well, then. If that's my only choice, you'll have to make do with me, however boring that seems to you," he answered, his voice clear, soft as it always was. He was not shaking, he was fine. Fine.
It was all for the best, however good that was going to be for him. He desperately hoped he wouldn't miss him, but he knew that deep down, he always would hate his choice. His partner would condemn what he done, wondering why on earth he didn't leave it be, why he didn't let him deal with him. And he supposed that wherever he was going, he would not be followed for years, and years, and years..
"John, John, Johnny-boy," Moriarty whispered theatrically. He smiled again. "You would honestly choose Sherlock over yourself?"
"Every single time," John whispered, willing now, for death.
Moriarty laughed, and pointed the gun directly at his chest.
John closed his eyes, and listened to his breathing. One breath-two breath-
In the background he heard Sherlock call his name, but he knew his body wouldn't be found for minutes more.
-Five breath-six breath-sev-
The gun fired.
And John whispered-