A/N: I should be writing other stuff but this wouldn't leave me alone. An exactly 100-word drabble.
A gunshot rang out in the small concrete room. The man crumpled to the ground, dead instantly, as the gunshot echoed. Scarlet blood began to pool on the floor.
Patrick Jane dropped the gun with a clatter, his hand shaking and his muscles gone lax. His whole body trembled and he couldn't decide whether he wanted to cry, scream or pass out. It was over; it was done. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and it seemed to work.
Jane lifted his hand and drew one last macabre smiley face on the wall, in Red John's own blood.