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Alternate ending:

I close one eye, Sebastian looking through his scope beside me, waiting.
I tilt my head lightly, looking through my invisible scope, and I can see hairlines on your friends graying head.

I grin, maliciously, waiting, steadying my breathing, waiting, watching, waiting, almost laughing.

"POW!" I hiss, as if saying the words aloud would reach your ears even from this distance.

I watch, and then pull my "sniper" away from me, raising my head to look into the window, watching.

Your pet shifts and staggers, as his body recoils from impact. The bullet had pushed in with ease, and the force pulled as it pierced his skull.

Sebastian is a good shot, and I demanded that he get the back of your John's head, so that you could see the life in his eyes go out, rather then a heap of skull and fragments of a melon.

Blood sprays like a fountain for brief moments as a result of the top back of his head being gone, ha, just shot straight off- the size of the bullet creating such a chaotic and messy outcome, that I wonder what happened to the rest of it as the shell from the sniper drops onto the cement floor with an audible and satisfactory 'ding'.

I watch passed the window, and pull out a small telescope from my breast pocket, fiddling with it excitedly, not pulling my eyes from the movie, almost toppling over the edge and of the building with the amount of glee emanating from me, blah blah, anxious to see what happens next, bleh bleh.

Fortunately, by the time I can see better, as the scene is magnified through the small lens, while I move it from the window in which the sofa would be situated a bit away from view, where you would perhaps be standing judging by how John stood prior to falling like the carcass he now is-, I see your feet at the top edge of the windows frame as they stager to approach the body that lays slightly out of view from our angle, the back of it's brain sprawled across the ground, almost resembling a Rorschach- on your armchair, on the small oak table, on his grandfather ugly slouch mahogany arm chair, blood pooling at such speed I could almost splash droplets around the puddles if I danced atop it.

But I wouldn't dare, no, don't worry, I must show my respects-
To the man who made these beautiful leather shoes, they weren't cheap, not that I don't have enough money to buy a country here and there.

I see as you frantically grab hold of his left shoulder as he lays on his side, his body angling downward as his body leans slightly and rolls of his right should, right arm uncomfortably under him, left arm sprawled out and oh blessed me those eyes. Those hideous dark blue eyes that look brown under low light are open- not wide, not narrowed, just open, as if looking at someone in the room when conversing, and it's so, so wonderfully brilliant! Because there you are, and I can tell that you're looking into those eyes as you lay him on his back- and I can only imagine the squishy sound as the back of his smoking skull comes in contact with the ground, as the rest of whatever detached remain in there splashes on the red puddle as it oozes out.

My face suddenly aches and I realize it's because I'm smiling too broadly. I relax the grin lightly, my lips sliding against cold dry teeth.

You scream at him, and it's so funny because you're sooooo stupid! It doesn't take much to realize that he's dead. The back of his head is missing for God's sake hun! I chuckle lightly as I incoherently mumble some insults under my breath.

You finally look up and out the window, that's now slightly cracked because of the bullet hole on the top half of it, and your face displays an array of feelings, gives a painting of so many mixed abstract colors, acrylic paint, oil, because this isn't water colored anymore, this can't be washed off and forgotten, no no.

Your face is flushed, your pale eyes wide, manic, brows raised against a forehead spotted red as nerve endings would burst from strain and shock. I narrow my eye in the scope and realize that you're almost at tears as your eyes search past the window.

You glance towards your long dead pet before turning to come to a quick flourished stand, to get a better look outside. You narrow your eyes as you try to see clearly into the night sky, but me and Seb have already backed away from the edge lightly. You won't find us, physically, right now, but even in your sorry state you'd know from the trajectory of entry where we're located- and if you do find the answers, why would it matter? What would you do? Glare at us until you exploded?

Oh, deary, actually, don't. We don't want that yet.

You turn away after a few turns of the head and darts of the eyes and you approach John again, and I can tell by the way that you look up towards the flat entry that the audible scream motions Mrs. Hudson's entry, she has stepped onto the stage before the curtains draped. And like a beautiful audience, the surrounding lights of the neighborhood turn on, like an array of applause.

I look back to you, and your holding John from his upper arms, gripping rather, angling him towards you, his head lolled back, eyes still open, and oh my, looking towards you as if they could still see. Hahaha! And oh, what is this? Is the great Sherlock Holmes shaking as a result of a few sobs?

My, didn't know your body could shake so violently. Ohh and I can even hear you screaming his name from all the way over here! It's rather pathetic. But then, as if you heard me, you go still, and now you're just in shock, motionless, silently crying.

After awhile, after watching the scene continue, you're holding John, tears tears, crying, et cetera, I hear the wail of sirens screaming from a few blocks down.

My grin drops, and now I'm glaring, lips slightly parted, because now I'm bored, and I can't see and hear and touch the full damage that was done from this distance.

Sebastian lifts his head, and looks towards me. "Sir?" He addresses again, and I don't look to him as I push my body off the ground and come to a stand, lightly dusting my suit.

I pull my phone from my slack pocket and quickly dial a convenient number, the number of a family member who's quite good at handling corpses. Better yet, her services are free. "The pet's been put to sleep. I trust you can alter the reports in case Moran left any scraps behind in his excited haste. Don't be expecting me tomorrow. Later love." And without a reply, of approval, disapproval or understanding, I hung up and put the phone back in my pocket.

"Let's go." I simply say, voice hollow, as I turn towards the door in which we came from, ready to descend down the stairs, not bothering with the fire escape, not fond of running from the law, therefore having every bit of confidence in my stride, my cool demeanor.

I hear Sebastian unfasten his gun and deconstruct it with such precision it almost makes me laugh at how proud I am for having my hired men, as he then stands and follows me quietly.

Tomorrow, Sherlock, I decide. Tomorrow you'll fall from grace too. Tomorrow I'll be done with you. And there's no need to rush it.

Because what fun is to destroy you so quickly? But what fun is it to play with a broken man?

The bread crumbs I left behind, I wonder if you'll still be willing to follow them into the oven? Or bite the poisonous apple I bit into first?

The walk is silent, we exchange no words, and I do not look back towards your window as I unconsciously grin.