It had only been a month, a mere month since the world's most renowned detective had tragically taken his own life by jumping from the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. And with him, everything that was James Moriarty fell apart.

"It's ridiculous, Sherlock, what you've reduced me to." The once master criminal spoke to the empty pool where he had first officially met the great Sherlock Holmes. However now, Jim could only reminisce about their unfinished games, completely delirious from the massive amounts of strong drugs that would supposedly treat his deepening depression. "In the end, you were all I had. And I'm nothing without you."

Only a month ago, Jim would have never imagined he would ever speak the words he spoke today. If he had any idea what life would be like without Sherlock, he certainly would have never made him take the jump. Although deep down, the psychopath knew he would be missing the games he found to be so adorable that he and Sherlock would play. Where Jim would plan out a master crime and let the consulting detective try and solve it. Because Moriarty knew that no matter how often the two spent hours in a conversation, or going out for tea, there was absolutely no evidence that could be traced back to him. And the games could have gone on for an eternity.

He won in the end. This was supposed to be a time of victory. How had this happened?

"You were my only friend. Would you believe me if I said that..." Jim paused, letting out a weak cough. "That I miss you..." Following the finished sentence came more aggressive coughing. And to Jim's misfortune, blood sputtered from his mouth with every cough. It appeared all the drugs were really taking an effect now. With another cough, Jim collapsed onto his knees. This was his fault. The thought kept nagging at him and he knew it was true.

While first attempting to crawl away from the area, Moriarty could no longer go on, and he allowed his weak body to fall completely on the cold ground beneath.

"Jim..?" A smooth voice echoed through the indoor pool. It was familiar, but Moriarty didn't bother to move except for the occasional cough. "Jim!" Hurried footsteps reached the man on the floor and soon the owner of the voice was kneeling besides Jim, a hand moving to lift his head from the ground.

"Sherlock..?" Jim was shocked to see the all too familiar face of his greatest enemy over him. But how was he there? "Sherlock... You're alive? How..?"

"Don't you remember? I told you, I'm too clever to be beaten." Jim had to give a short painful chuckle towards the response. Of course. The clever Sherlock Holmes had faked his own death.

"You're alive." Jim repeated with a faint and weak smile.

"Alright. Jim, don't move. I'm going to get you through this." Sherlock seemed more frantic now as he rolled up some of the criminal's sleeve to check for his pulse. To his horror, a weak pulse wasn't the only thing to find. All along Jim's arms and wrists were scars from deep self-inflicted cuts. "Dear God, Jim! What have you done?!" Moriarty allowed the words to pass through his thoughts and his eyes softly closed.

"Sher... Sherlock, I..." Love you. Jim gave one last dying smile at the words that were never to be finished. Sherlock Holmes, his greatest enemy and only friend, was alive. That's all that mattered, he decided as darkness enclosed him. And the last thing he heard was Sherlock's voice shouting his name to come back.

The hallucination ended and the pool held a cold silence. All was completely empty except for the body of who was once the greatest criminal mastermind the world had ever known.

A/N: I don't know... The idea of this wouldn't leave my mind so I had to write it down. Depressing I know.

So this is my first Sherlock fanfiction, be sure to tell me what you think! Thanks for reading and reviews are appreciated!