My dearest Moran, whatever shall we send down Sherlock's path next?" Jim Moriarty chuckled and looked at his boyfriend of two years, whom he had met almost immediately after both his and Sherlock's faked death.

"Why, I don't know, my dearest Moriarty, what do you suggest?"

"I say we throw him a new level in our little video game we are playing."

"Fantastic idea." My dearest Moran, whatever shall we send down Sherlock's path next?" Jim Moriarty chuckled and looked at his boyfriend of two years, whom he had met almost immediately after both his and Sherlock's faked death.

"Why, I don't know, my dearest Moriarty, what do you suggest?"

"I say we throw him a new level in our little video game we are playing."

"Fantastic idea."

Moriarty looked at Seb and gave him a smile he had saved purely for him and then they began to dance, around and around in the little apartment where they had resided for the best two years of their lives. They danced until 7 o'clock in the morning and then stopped at 9 o'clock, when Sebastian had to go pick up a dear friend of Sherlock Holmes', the first step in the last part of their brilliant scheme.

"Irene, would you be willing to do a bit of an act for me?"

"Why not? Could be fun." Irene smiled at Sherlock through her red-stained lips and concealed the dull fear springing up into her lungs. "Details?"

Sherlock began to tell Irene of his plan to take down Moriarty in detail. Irene ignored most of the addends Sherlock insisted on putting in, but listened intently to all that she was to do.

When he was, finished, she simply nodded and headed down the street. The plan was to take place in three days. Irene had a lot of preparation before that, and she wanted to get it right, or rather, she had to.

John went home in a dejected mood, put on his nightclothes, and went to bed. He tried to sleep

but instead spent an hour lying thinking about what his next move might be, and then he sat straight up.

The text had might have meant more than he had thought. The sentences all started with the letter, "I". 221B was where they lived, so maybe Sherlock was in 221I. John didn't know if he was thinking crazily based on fats his tired mind was making up or if he had a real point here. Nevertheless, he began to put on his clothes and walked to the door with a new determination in his mind.

Irene found her way to her new apartment, 321D, and crept up the stairs to find a face she had hoped never to see.

"Hello, my dearest dominatrix". Sebastian Moran was sitting in her new living room on a lone plastic chair, pointing a gun at her head. "I suggest you cooperate."

Irene, being someone that was constantly threatened and just someone with a general knowledge of what happened to people like her , pulled a gun out of her coat and aimed, but not before Sebastian could run up and rip it out of her hands. She glowered at him with an anger so deep you could tell she'd lost something to this man. Sebastian pulled at some rope and pointed at the chair, all while keeping a gun pointed at Irene's head.

"Let's make this easy."

"You killed my mother."

"Was that me?"

"I will kill you."

"I'd love to see you try."

And with that, Sebastian tied her up and dragged her out of the apartment and into his van, and then took her back to his and Moriarty's apartment, where she was to be stored in the closet until the next day, when they would need her again.

John sped down the street and into an alley, a jumper on over his pajamas. He walked as fast as he could until he reached 221I and, in a breathless stupor, he knocked on the door.

Sherlock heard the knock on his door and immediately felt extremely worried. For once, he didn't know what he was going to do. He had no idea who it could be. He hadn't made another appointment with Irene until the following day and Molly still didn't know where he lived. He walked slowly to the door, his hand on the pistol in his pocket, and opened it.

"John."

"Sherlock."

They stood for a second. Then, all of a sudden, John's fist was in Sherlock's face and he was screaming.

YOU… YOU… I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. YOU WERE DEAD. You were dead." John trailed off and fell into Sherlock's arms, the only place that felt right.

Sherlock, who rarely felt anything, found himself shaking.

"John, I am so sorry. I am truly sorry."

John nodded and they both walked back inside, and talked and talked. They talked about Moriarty and Sherlock's plan, about Irene and Molly, about Sherlock's phone, and about how to figure this out. And then, they fell asleep, at the same time, on opposite chairs.

"Don't worry, darling. We already know where he's planning on meeting you. No need to worry about betrayal." Sebastian smirked at Irene, who was glaring from the back of the van Jim and himself were driving to the garage where Sherlock and Irene had agreed to meet and discuss how to take down Jim's "Web". He chuckled to himself at the silly little names they'd come up with.

Jim had been calling the schemes and trappings levels in a video game he had invented to take down Holmes once and for all. He was calling today "The Final Level" and Sebastian thought it was adorable. All they had to do was get "The Woman" and Sherlock Holmes would be cowering and begging at their knees. Sebastian was ready for this.

Jim Moriarty focused on the road, all the confidence in the world on his side. He had everything in the world he could ever have needed: His boyfriend at his side, an unsuspecting Sherlock Holmes, and the promise of an ending he could count on. The Final Level was ready, and so was Jim.

"We'll be meeting Irene in a garage near the outskirts of the city. It is run down and hasn't been used in several years, so we should be safe and distanced from any prying eyes or ears."

John nodded nervously, feeling something very wrong in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't mention it, because he trusted Sherlock with his life, and if this is what he had planned, this is what John was going to go along with.

Sherlock felt nervousness turning in his stomach, as well, though his was mostly for John. If anything ever happened to his doctor because of his own actions, he would never be able to go on, let alone forgive himself or solve any more cases.

They walked up the street to the garage. It was time.