It doesn't take longer than a second for me to realize: I'm dying. The blood is quickly spilling out my pelvis and staining my already dirty shirt. I have the misfortune that the sniper who shot me doesn't have any mercy and has decided to let me bleed to death. I can feel the pain shooting through my body as I lie on the ground of some abandoned alley. My eyes close and I let out a sigh.
Other than the agony I'm going through at the moment, I can only see one down-side to death:

The web isn't destroyed yet. I can't finish what I started. But it isn't like I'm actually that bothered. Let the world that thinks I'm a fraud be burnt down!

There's nothing left here for me. I ruined everything.

It's already been six months since the web found out about the man behind all the mysterious killings of their members, and immediately executed John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. Six months and the thought of it still feels like a new stab in the back. They all died because in three years, I was imprudent once.

I don't have friends. Alone is what I have.

My words echo in my mind. I used to think that I was a genius, but now I know how ignorant I was back then. Sure, my eyes could look around a room and I could instantly tell you what sort of person had passed, but what use is it to me in the end? Now I think that I always just wanted friends, but that part of my mind that only lives in the world of logic kept stopping me from noticing what my needs were.

I think when I said those things, I was actually making prophecies about what was going to happen.

Listen to me, I'm sounding so ridiculous, thinking about 'destiny' and 'prophecies'...
That was that logical, easy-to-hate part of me again.

My friends are all dead.

I tell myself once more, still trying to convince myself after half a year. Every time I do, the thought stings and only the one of the opposite takes it away a little.

I only have a couple minutes left.

That fact is much easier to accept. The other part of my mind objects. If it hadn't been for it, I would've probably grabbed the nearest gun (which is never far) and killed myself immediately when I found out what happened. But it knew that their deaths gave me more reason to finish off the web.

It also knows that once this is all over, I will not be back with John, because even if their was such a thing as 'paradise', I would not deserve to go there. I know this because I'm only coming to these conclusions now.

When I found out what had happened, I made my way back to London to observe their funerals from afar, like I did with my own. I can still feel their tombstones, wet from the rain resting under my hand.

It hurts too much to think so my eyes open and flash around one last time to distract myself with what I do best, let the logical part of my mind take over:

Someone tried to graffiti the wall but just as they sprayed the first splurge, someone came and the sprayer fled, which then created that small line from pulling the can away and then let it fall down on the pavement. A drunken homeless man looking for food knocked that garbage bin three days ago. My vision is starting to blur. That cat's been badly injured by the Rottweiler I saw a couple streets back and will have a permanent limp from it. I've lost too much blood to stay conscious for longer than thirty seconds. No one has passed here in at least eight hours. It was raining here less than an hour ago. My deductions are becoming worse and worse.

For once the logical part of me becomes silent and I can completely relax.