Three months, that was when it happened. I had the date memorized as to when it started. April 14th, 2013. Three months after Sherlock came back from his three year disappearance. John wasn't happy at first when Sherlock came back. Of course he wasn't! Who would be? The love of his life faked his death and didn't tell John. After a couple of days though, John came around and was just happy that Sherlock was back in his life. April 14th, 2013 was when everything started.

I had been watching from a distance as Sherlock walked up to 221B. I had cut off all communication from John and Sherlock because I knew what was going to happen. Sherlock found the package sitting on the doorstep. It was addressed to him, so he opened it after inspecting the package.
He pulled the phone out of the package and looked at it curiously. His face then changed almost instantly. I knew that he had seen John. I stepped closer to Sherlock even though I knew exactly what was happening in the video. John was being electrocuted, or at least he sounded like he was. There was a manancial laugh that could be heard over the screaming.

"This Fairytale could end badly if you don't find him in time, Sherlock." The voice said.

"Moriarty." Sherlock gasped.

"Ah, yes. Sherlock. You got it right."

"I will kill you Moriarty."

"Oh, you can try. It hasn't worked yet."

"Don't listen to him, Sherlock." You could hear John say between gasps of air.

There was the sound of John screaming again as electricity was sent racing through his body.

"You better find him quickly, Sherlock. He might not last long at this rate."

Then the video shut off. Sherlock took off, pulling his phone out of his pocket and making his way to Scotland yard.

Sherlock found John quickly. Had the yard been the only people to be searching for John, he would still be missing years later. Sherlock had found John even before The Yard had been anywhere close to finding him. It was accelerated because Moriarty decided to give almost hourly updates to Sherlock. It only increased his anger toward the vile man. When Sherlock found the warehouse that John was being held in, he called Greg Lestrade and told him exactly where it was before rushing inside.

When he got inside, he should have recognized that it was a trap. John sitting in the middle of the room, now hanging from an old industrial hook instead of being tied down to a chair. He was the only thing that was in the room, it seemed as though no one else occupied the room. Sherlock ran toward John, his emotions taking over. Had he not been so emotionally compromised, he would have seen the man that was sitting in the darkness. When Sherlock got close to John, the man jumped onto Sherlock's back with a knife in hand.

Sherlock quickly fought him off, his anger fueling his fight. With one quick strike, the man who attacked Sherlock was dead.

"Ah, Sherlock, I'm glad that you could make it to the party. It seems that you have killed someone." Moriarty's voice echoed throughout the warehouse.

"Just like I'm going to kill you. Only, your death will be slower and more violent."

"I thought you could sink no lower, Sherlock. Making threats now, are we?"

"It's not a threat. It's a promise." Sherlock said, scanning the surrounding area for anymore unseen attackers before he went to John.

"Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn't step any closer." Moriarty said in his sing-song voice.

Sherlock knew that he messed up. He could feel the slightest pressure of a tripwire on his shins.

"As you can see, Sherlock, you have just activated the tripwire. Add anymore pressure or take away pressure and BOOM! The bomb jacket attached to John will go off."

I could see Sherlock silently curse himself before looking around. He slowly moved down onto one knee, examining the tripwire. He took it carefully between his first finger and his thumb, breaking it with a loud crack.

"Ah, you've found a way to disarm the tripwire."

"Not hard. You need some new material. Lord Blackwood used this against my great grandfather. Not at all hard to destroy." Sherlock said, walking closer to John. "And I see that you have set a mercury switch to this poorly made bomb-vest."

And poorly made it was. The vest was one that children use when they go canoeing.

"Exactly. Any slightest movement of the mercury inside of that and BOOM!"

Sherlock studied the vest. There wasn't very much explosives on it due to the design of the vest that was wrapped around an unconscious John. Sherlock took his time, unbuckling the three belts that held the vest secured around John. Sherlock was a master at controlling his body, so none of the movements he made triggered the mercury switch.

Once the vest had been unbuckled, he continued to study the mercury switch. I saw that little flicker of acknowledgement in his eyes. He knew that the mercury switch wasn't connected, but he still played Moriarty. He moved slowly, pretending that the mercury switch would trigger the bomb, while beginning to take the vest off of John. He paused for a moment to look at John.

He was unconscious, dangling in mid air. There was blood coming from his mouth and his ear. There was also blood pooled on the ground, which Sherlock was standing in. The blood had been coming from the different puncture wounds, most likely having been made with an ice pick, around John's legs and midsection. Sherlock could hear his breathing which meant that John either had broken ribs or a collapsed/punctured lung. It only made Sherlock angrier.

He took his time again, slowly removing the vest from around John's neck. He turned around, backing away from John before beginning to throw the bomb away.

There was a pain that rip through Sherlock's arm. Had he been wrong? Had the mercury switch actually been activated? No, it couldn't have been. Sherlock was one-hundred percent sure that the mercury switch was a fake. That meant that Moriarty had remote triggered the bomb. I watched as Sherlock clutched his hand to his body as he went down. The shrapnel tore through his hand and arm as the bomb exploded.

It wasn't a large explosion, but it definitely did damage. Sherlock went down like he had been shot. He let out a shout of pain and shock as he hit the ground. He fell silent after that as he could hear footsteps running up to him. There was a sharp pain in his ribs as Moriarty kicked him. There were a few more kicks before Sherlock was able to counter Moriarty. On the sixth kick, Sherlock grabbed Moriarty by the shin and used the man's momentum to take him down.
Sherlock punched Moriarty in the face once, before grabbing him by the throat.

"Sherlock...Sherlock." Moriarty croaked. "You are so predictable." He continued, his left arm coming up to Sherlock's midsection.

Sherlock released Moriarty's throat, pain searing in his mid-section. His hands went to the ice pick that was now embedded handle deep into him. It was also most likely the ice pick that was used to torture John. Sherlock slowly pulled the ice pick out, the air leaving his body as he did so. Moriarty could only sit there, still pinned down by Sherlock, and smile as the pain flashed across Sherlock's face. His smile increased even more as he watched blood trickle down Sherlock's chin, a sign of internal bleeding inside the consulting detective's body.

"You can't kill me Sherlock. You're on the side of the angels."

After a painful breath, Sherlock responded.

"I told you once, I may be on the side of the angels." He said. "But don't think for one second, that I am one of them."

He took the ice pick that was in his hand and sent it through Moriarty's chest. Moriarty's eyes got wide in shock and, with a single twist of the ice pick, severing the aortic artery, Moriarty was dead.

Sherlock stood up and began to make his way to John. His sharpnel ridden hand was doing the best it could to keep pressure on the stab wound. When he got to John, Sherlock slid his head between John's arms as he wrapped his good arm around John's back. It didn't take very much effort to pull John off of the industrial hook.

"I've got you, John." Sherlock whispered to his unconscious and seriously injured lover.

He put his good arm under John's neck, carefully propping his head onto a bent knee. Sherlock did his best to close his injured hand into a fist, placing the fist onto John's sternum and rubbing hard.

"John...John, wake up!" Sherlock shouted as he did so.

John's face was bruised black and blue so it was no surprise that Sherlock almost missed seeing John's eyes open a little.

"Sherlock." John whispered.

John's words were slurred, either a sign of brain damage or a broken jaw, so it sounded like "Therlock."

"I'm right here, John." Sherlock replied.

"Moriarty..?"

"He's dead." Sherlock answered, turning his head around to see his dead enemy on the ground a few feet behind him.

Sherlock had to turn his body a little to see behind him properly, an action which caused him a great deal of pain. He did his best to hide the grimace of pain from John, but the army doctor noticed.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock replied, bringing his injured hand back to its place by the ice pick wound.

"Let me see your stomach, Sherlock." John ordered.

Normally, Sherlock would never have done it. It was John who asked though and Sherlock would do anything for John. Sherlock tilted his hand towards John just enough so that John could see the blood seeping from Sherlock's stomach.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine, John." Sherlock assured him again

Sherlock was anything but fine. His vision was slowly starting to go blurry, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and the room slowly began to start spinning.

"Let me help you." John said as he tried to sit up.

John could barely sit up before he let out a cry of pain.

"John, everything will be fine. Please, don't move." Sherlock pleaded, carefully pushing John back to his original position.

"What did he do to you?" Sherlock whispered softly

"It doesn't matter, Sherlock. Don't dwell on it because it's not your fault. Nothing that happened was your fault."

John coughed, his body seizing in excruciating pain. Even though police sirens could be heard, Sherlock knew that John would not be alive long enough to see them.

"I didn't find you soon enough." Sherlock argued.

"Don't think like that."

John's eyes closed for a second allowing Sherlock to look up. It was almost as if he had looked straight at me.

"What are you doing? Why are you just standing there?!" Sherlock shouted. "I know that you are standing there. I know that you have been following me around. You can stop him from dying, so get over here and do something."

I did not answer. I could not answer. There was nothing I could do for John.

"Sherlock...Sherlock...Look at me." John mumbled.

Sherlock looked down at the plea of his lover.

"This is not your fault."

"Please don't leave me, John."

"You know that I'll never leave you. I'll be right there." John pointed to Sherlock's chest, right where the man's heart was.

"I love you John." Sherlock whispered.

That was shocking. Well, not shocking in the sense that it was a love confession, but in the sense that Sherlock had never initiated the "I love you" conversation. His role in the conversation was always "I love you too, John." It was never "I love you John."

"I love you too...Sherlock."
Sherlock held John tightly, whispering over and over "I love you.", as John's breathing got slower and slower.

It was excruciatingly painful for both Sherlock and I to watch John slowly die. Sherlock could do nothing to save his lover and I could do nothing to change the course of this. It was a curse to be able to watch this and yet not being able to do anything about it. Sherlock held John tight and gently rocked back and forth. John's breathing got slower and slower.

"I love you Sherlock." John whispered.

That was the last thing that John ever said. He stopped breathing after he said that. Sherlock kissed John on the head.

"I love you too, John." He whispered in reply as he set John carefully on the ground.

After setting John on the ground, Sherlock swayed dangerously and fell to the ground. Blood continued to seep out of the wound in his abdomen. I ran out of the shadow knowing full well that Sherlock's lung had collapsed and he was in danger of dying. This was something that I could do. I could save Sherlock because that's how it was suppose to happen.

I knelt next to Sherlock and place a hand over the wound. In response, Sherlock angrily shoved it away.

"I don't need your help." He growled, his breathing could be easily heard. "John needed your help."

"I need to help you." I argued, placing my hands back on the wound.

"Leave me to die." Sherlock replied dejectedly.

I could do the only thing that I could think of. I punched Sherlock, knocking him into unconsciousness. It made him a lot easier to deal with. I continued to maintain the pressure on Sherlock wound as the sirens got closer. I waited till just the right moment, I could almost hear the footsteps of police and medics, before I got up and rushed back into the TARDIS. No one needed to know that I had been there. All that was left was two dead men and one man who would survive.