Once John had left to go and meet my brother I remained where I was on the floor for a few more moments and stared blankly at the ceiling. There was the smallest of doubts at the back of my mind and for a minute I hovered on the brink of putting the case on hold and hurrying after John. It took an immense effort of will to push the thought to one side. Despite my doubts I couldn't allow myself to get distracted from the case, not when Moriarty could possible be involved somehow.

I sighed and absentmindedly fiddled with one my shirt buttons. I knew the only reason someone would carve a letter into a bullet casing was that they wanted it to be found, which was why Lestrade had been able to find it so easily without my help. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath as I did so. There was an aspect of the case worrying me, one aspect I was unable to work out, and that was the resemblance the dead body bore to John. Once again I remembered Moriarty's threat to kill everyone I cared about by signalling to hidden gunmen. Could it be possible Moriarty was putting a revenge plan into action. My eyes flew open.

Had I been right to let John go see Mycroft alone? Should I have gone with him? My hand was half-way to my phone before I caught myself and reprimanded myself for being so overprotective. John, he was perfectly able to look after himself and I trusted my brother to look after him while John was within his care. There was no point in worrying and I forcibly shoved the emotion to one side, aware of how it my clouding my judgement. I needed to concentrate if I was going to get to the bottom of this case.

My mind cleared of doubts that would distract me from making accurate deductions and observations I stood up and strode towards the door, pausing only to grab my coat and wrap my scarf around my neck. Outside, as I turned to walk briskly up the street, I spotted a solitary taxi pulling away with a single occupant in the back but quickly dismissed it as an unimportant detail. I had other things to worry about. As I walked to my destination my mind constantly ran over the details of the case, interrupted occasionally when I noticed odd little details about passers-by. The walk passed quickly and in no time at all I reached the dark shop the gun dealer I know works from.

My step slowed and for a moment I wished John was here beside me as I took in the unlit shop, glass from its smashed window glittering on the pavement. It didn't take a consulting detective to work out there had been a break in. Cautiously I made my way forward, my eyes scanning the scene before me. I was unable to spot any immediate threats but decided it was best not to risk calling out. I had been taken by surprise before and wasn't eager for it to happen again.

The door appeared to still be locked and without John to bash it down for me I carefully climbed through the window, my scarf wrapped around my hands to protect them from the jagged shards of glass. Inside I straightened up and blinked against the darkness. If I was going to work out what had happened here I needed light, despite the potential danger of startling anyone who might be in hiding. I had no choice though, I had to work out who was responsible for the shooting. John's life could very well depend on it.

I fumbled round the walls until my hand brushed against a light switch. The sudden explosion of light illuminated a scene of utter destruction. The entire contents of the shop was strewn over the floor. I frowned, what on earth had happened here? I looked round, slowly walking ever further into the shop. A sudden thought struck me followed by a jolt of realization. The destroyed store was a distraction, something to draw my attention away from the person sneaking up behind me. I spun round but I was too late.

A powerful arm wrapped around my neck. I gasped, suddenly unable to breath. I struggled against my attacker's grip, trying to gain some purchase so I could get them off me. Drawing back an elbow I rammed it into my attacker's stomach. I heard a loud gasp and the tight grip around my throat loosened, enabling me to break away. I backed off, gingerly massaging my neck, wondering what John would say when I returned tonight with a bruised throat.

"Who are you? Who do you work for?" I choked out, my voice sounding slightly strangled.

My attacker smirked. "I think you know that already Sherlock. My employer is 'dying' to meet you."

I took a step back, my feet cracking and crunching on the debris littered floor. "But he's dead. I saw him die." I protested, not wanting to hear what I'd already worked out for myself.

My attacker lunged towards me and I easily side-stepped his clumsy attempt. He crashed against a stand and let out a loud yelp. I stared down at him, unable to feel any sympathy for someone who'd just been trying to strangle me.

"Ha." laughed my attacker, sounding slightly breathless. "Did you really think you were the only one clever enough to fake your own death?"

The two of us face each other, both of us watching the other as we tried to guess what the other's next move might be.

"Moriarty's way was crude and brutal, just like him. At least there was some elegance in my death. Let me guess he employed you to finish me off for good." I said, probing for answers.

My attacker started to pace. "Oh you think you're so clever Mr Sherlock, I'm the world's only consulting detective, Holmes. Moriarty doesn't want you dead just yet. Oh no, first he plans to destroy the one thing you love, just like he promised to on the rooftop of St Bart's."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. "But none of that matters any more. Moriarty got me to jump." I said, aware of how my voice was starting to show signs of emotion.

My attacker paused on front of me and I found myself staring into a pair of dark brown eyes. "Moriarty always keeps his promises."

I was about to reply when the shrill ringing of my phone cut through the silence. Slowly I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, keeping one eye fixed on my attacker.

"Yes? Hello?" I snapped, annoyed at having been disturbed from questioning my attacker further.

"Sherlock, its Lestrade. Is John there with you?

I was startled to hear the usually calm Lestrade sounding flustered. Instantly I knew something must have happened. "No he's not. He's with Mycroft."

I heard Lestrade sigh heavily. "He can't be. Your brother isn't in London today remember? Sherlock I'm calling because I found John's gun and phone at the corner of Baker Street. The phone was smashed. I think some-thing's happened to him Sherlock."

I gritted my teeth. I'd known I should have listened to those doubts I had had earlier. I glanced swiftly towards my attacker, remembering what he'd said about Moriarty destroying the thing I loved most. Realization dawned on me. Moriarty had John!

At this point, having noticed I'm distracted by the phone call, my attacker tackled me. Together we both go crashing to the ground and I lose my grip on my phone which skittered away into a corner.

"Moriarty will not be beaten." My attacker cried, his hands tightening around my throat.

I didn't stop to think about what I was going to do and was already reaching for the object I'd deliberately placed myself close to. The umbrella stand was heavy and perfect for the purpose I intended to use it for. I smashed the stand down on my attacker's head with a satisfying thud and smiled grimly when I felt him go limp. I pushed him off me and went to find my phone.

"Sorry about that Lestrade." I croaked.

"What the hell is going on?" He thundered in reply.

I winced and held the phone away from my ear. "If you;d be so kind as to send a few of your least annoying officers to Monty Smith's store you'll discover why I was temporarily separated from my phone." I paused and drew in a deep breath, preparing myself for what I was about to say next. "Meet me at St Bart's Hospital soon as you can. Moriarty has John."

I hung up before Lestrade could reply and sprinted from the store. This time I didn't stop to wrap my scarf around my fingers and sliced them on the glass. I wasn't aware of the pain though; the only thing I cared about was getting to John before Moriarty did anything to him. As I ran down the street I cursed under my breath. I had been so wrapped up trying to solve the case I'd played right into Moriarty's hands. I spotted a taxi coming towards me and jumped in front of it. It screeched to a stop and I hastily climbed in.

"St Batholomew's Hospital, quick as you can."

The taxi driver gave me a funny look and for a moment I imagined what I must look like to him with my bloodied hands and bruised throat. I shook my head and pushed the thought away. I didn't have time for such distractions.

"Well?" I snapped, earning me a dirty look from the driver. "What are you waiting for?"

The taxi pulled away and I lent back in my seat, willing Moriarty to wait until I got there before he did anything. I closed my eyes. I would never forgive myself if John was hurt. Barely five minutes later the taxi slowed to a halt. I lent forward and slid open the partition.

"Why have we stopped?" I asked.

The taxi driver shrugged and grinned ruefully, half turning towards me. "Good old London rush hour."

I glanced out the window and was horrified to see lines of stationary traffic on either side. I didn't have time for this; I had to get to St Bart's before it was too late. I flung open the door of the taxi and leaped out. I set off at a run down the crowded street.

"Oi!" yelled the taxi driver, hanging out of his window. "You ain't paid your fare."

I skidded to a halt momentarily and spun to face him. "Take it up with Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. He'll be more than happy to pay for me."

This of course was a complete lie. Lestrade hated it when I did things like that and knew I often did it just to annoy him. Today however was different, today it was a matter of life and death. At the speed I was going I calculated it would take me about ten minutes to reach the hospital. As I ran random thoughts drifted through my mind, each one sending a small stab of dread through me. What if I was too late? What if it was a trap? What if Moriarty didn't wait?

I gritted my teeth and concentrated my efforts on running faster. I was just being pessimistic. Of course I would arrive on time and save John. There could be no other outcome.

I rounded a corner and suddenly St Bart's was directly in front of me. I looked up at the roof but couldn't see anybody up there. That didn't mean Moriarty wasn't up there. I was just turning my gaze away from the rooftop when a loud gunshot split the air. I froze where I was for a few seconds before sprinting across the street, horns blaring and drivers cursing as I weaved through the traffic before crashing through the doors into the hospital's reception. People cried out as I shoved them aside. The rest of my journey through the hospital became a blur until finally I stood once more on the ill-fated roof where Moriarty and I had last faced each other.

I spotted John almost straight away as he lay in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. I was about to run to his side when I heard a commotion coming from the street below. I peered cautiously out over the edge to see a number of police cars pulling up outside the hospital, their blue lights flashing and people jumping out, Lestrade among them.

"Hey." I shouted, waving my arms. "We're up here."

I didn't wait for a reply and drew back from the edge, hurrying over to John. I fell to my knees beside him, not caring about the blood that would stain my clothes. Tenderly I rested two fingers on the vein in his neck in order to feel for a pulse. To my relief I felt a strong rhythm beating beneath my fingers and I allowed myself the luxury of a small smile. With a shaking hand I reached out and stroked John's hair, telling myself as I did so everything was going to be alright.

"It's going to be fine John. Moriarty failed." I whispered, pausing for a moment. "I was so afraid I'd lost you this time, there was so much blood. Please open your eyes and show my you're okay." My voice broke slightly and my hand on John's head paused. My emotions were beginning to badly get out of my control.

A few tears dripped down my cheeks and I hastily, annoyed at myself for being so weak, wiped them away. I would never forgive myself for letting John go off to see my brother alone and getting shot as a result. He was my only friend and would be nothing without him. If he died I would go back to being the emotionless machine I'd been before I meet him.

This was all my fault. If only I hadn't gotten so wrapped up in this case, a case that had turned out to be a false one designed to lure me here, I could have protected my friend from harm.

I heard footsteps coming up behind me but pretended not to notice them. I already knew who they belonged to. The cold muzzle of a gun was pressed against the back of my neck and I heard the click of the safety being taken off.

"Hello Sherly." said the all too familiar lilting voice.

I grimaced and stood to face the person I'd believed to be dead. "Hello Moriarty."

As usual Lestrade and the others wouldn't arrive until it was much too late.