The night had turned much colder, and a mist started to form. It was no ordinary fog, and took the shape of a hooded, faceless figure. Mycroft felt a terror beyond terrors, although he knew the spirits would not physically harm him. After what he had seen so far, and remembering Alistair's warning, he knew he wouldn't like what he was going to see. He braced himself, telling himself this couldn't be real.

"You are the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" The spirit did not speak, or even nod. "And you are going to show me what will happen if things do not change? Since I appear to be in your control, lead on. We may as well get this over with."

Instantly they were surrounded by a fog too thick to see through. When it cleared, they were in a small wooden house that had been standing for too many years. Sherlock, John, Mary, and Sheryl were there, yet although it must be Christmas, there was no party. The four of them looked more like hunted animals than people. Sherlock, always so stoic, looked even more lost than when he'd shot Magnussen. John had his head burried in his hands, and Mary had tear tracks on her face. Sheryl was clinging to each of them in turn, although she was the only one without fear in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry John," Mary sobbed. "I tried to leave that life behind. All I wanted for so long, even before I met you, was to just pretend that life was a nightmare. I should never have married you. Now I've put you, our daughter, and Sherlock all in danger."

John held her and let her bury her face in him.

"It isn't your fault they found you. And I told you. The problems of your past are your buisness. The problems of your future are my privilege."

"But now my past could cost all of us our futures."

"Mummy, why are you afraid? Daddy and Uncle Sherlock would never let us be hurt." The child had complete faith in her loved ones. Sherlock hugged her as he answered.

"Your daughter is smarter than the both of you put together. Didn't I promise you I would always protect the three of you? I've never broken that promise yet have I?"

"He's planning something," Mycroft realized. "He's going to do something insane to try to keep them safe."

"You're sure Mycroft is arranging to smuggle us somewhere?" John asked.

"Yes. We just have to hold up here a little longer." Mycroft could see it in his eyes. Sherlock had never even asked him for help. Had their already broken relationship shattered that much? "His agents are looking for them right now, besides." He looked at Sheryl. "You must be cold. Let me build up the fire."

"Do you really think that's safe?" Mary asked. "Someone could see the smoke." Mycroft grew more fearful. That was not the kind of mistake Sherlock would ever make, especially not with the Watsons' lives on the line.

"Relax, Mary. If I wasn't absolutely sure it was safe, I wouldn't risk it, would I?" He added more would to the fire, and a small packet of something else no one but Mycroft and the Spirit saw. Smoke started curling out from it.

"I'm just going to step outside a moment," he told the others. Apparently it wasn't unusual for him to do so.

"I'm going with you!" Sheryl announced. Sherlock picked her up.

"No, you have to do something very important for me. I need you to keep your Mummy and Daddy safe. Although, maybe you're too young for that." Sherlock knew there was no better way to get a child to do something than to claim they were too young.

"No I'm not! You'll see. I won't let them get hurt."

Sherlock smiled. "All right. I'll trust you. I'll be back soon."

He didn't go far. He walked a ways away from the house before coming back. He left the door wide open, and then opened each window to let the cloud of smoke out. The Watsons were unharmed of course, but they would not wake up for a while. Sherlock checked their breathing and laid a gun by John and Mary's hands, leaving himself unarmed. He walked towards the door and looked back.

"The last Christmas gift I can give you. I just hope it's enough."

"Don't do anything stupid brother," Mycroft pleaded, but even if Sherlock could have heard him it wouldn't have mattered.

He started up a path towards a waterfall alone. Mycroft recognized it at once. It was the Reichenbach falls, the scene from the painting Sherlock had recovered years ago, in the case that had made him famous. If there was any doubt in his mind that Sherlock might survive this, that removed it. The universe was rarely so lazy that it would allow coincidences.

"Spirit, before we go farther, are these the shadows of things that will be, or only things that might be?" The spirit still did not say a word. "I know that men's deeds cause certain results, but if the deeds change surely the results change too?" The only reply was a nameless force driving him forward.

Sherlock and a figure Mycroft could see was a foreign secret agent faced each other when they reached a very narrow part of the walkway. The two spoke in Serbian, which Mycroft understood easily thanks to having to get his brother out of there before.

"So, you have decided to defend that murderer."

"She has a husband and child now. A new name, a new life. She is not the same person. Leave her and her family. Killing them won't bring your brother back. He killed others, far more than she did. If she hadn't killed him, it would have been someone else who did. You have nothing to gain, and if you harm any of them you have everything to lose," Sherlock warned him.

"That is a fool talking. You have no gun, and I do."

"But they both have guns since I left mine. They are both excellent shots. They would be able to take you down, if I let you get that close to them."

The Serbian laughed. "You are no threat to me."

Mycroft saw him pull a gun, and whether this was an illusion or not, he couldn't let this happen. He tried to get in the path of the bullet, but it passed strait through him. It wasn't an immediate kill. Sherlock still had the strength to use the Ironic that defense moves he knew. The Serbian was thrown from the narrow path as Sherlock collapsed against the rock wall. If he could have heard him, he would have known Mycroft was screaming at the top of his lungs. If he could have felt him, he'd have known Mycroft was trying to hold him.

"Sherlock you've been shot before and you've made it! You can do it again this time!"

He continued to shout encouragements as Sherlock's phone rang. Sherlock had just enough strength to answer the phone. Mycroft could hear John's voice, still groggy but alert enough to know something was wrong. The shot would have been easily heard yet at this distance.

"Sherlock where the hell are you?" He must have made out the sound of the water. "The falls?"

"Looks like Richard Brook will be part of my last case after all, John. I don't think I ever told you Rich Brook is English for Reichenbach did I? Ironic that it would end with me here. Remember when I found the painting of this place?"

"Shut up, Sherlock, just shut up! You're not going to put me through this again. You're not going to die. Just hold on. We're coming."

Mycroft held his breath, hoping John would make it on time, but Sherlock had already given up. No, he had accepted the inevitable.

"John, take Mary and Sheryl and go. You won't make it in time. Given the estimated rate of blood loss and slowing of my pulse I estimate that I have-"

"I don't want to know Sherlock because I'm not letting that happen! You've made it through being shot before and you weren't even responsive then. You're the most stubborn person I know. You're not one to just lie down and die."

"For once listen to John!" Mycroft screamed. It wouldn't have mattered if Sherlock could hear him.

"There's a time to die John."

"Well it's not now! You said you were in touch with Mycroft. Get him to get in a helicopter or something!"

"I lied, John. He would never have helped me. I don't think there was ever a time he would have."

"That's not true!" Mycroft cried.

"You never even asked him?"

I knew it was useless. I'm not sorry to go this way. I'm just sorry for what you and your family have to go through."

"You are my family, Sherlock. You'll laugh at me for saying this, but you're my brother."

Sherlock didn't laugh. He drew in a pained breath before answering "And you're mine."

That was when both John and Mycroft knew it was nearly over, or Sherlock would never have said that. He dropped the phone and went limp. Mycroft screamed his name and tried to grab him, but it was no use. A terrible thought occurred to him.

"Spirit, tell me it's not already too late! Tell me this future has not already happened. He can't die like this!" Any logic or reason, and need to distance himself from feeling, was forgotten. All he knew was he needed to save his brother. "I'm not the man I was! I'm not the man I was!"

His eyes were closed as he reached for his brother, and felt something solid...

AN: Thank you again Psay and iamsherlocked for your kind reviews:)