Her words crushed me. I tried to keep my composure, but I found myself crumpled up on the carpet in the hallway, shaking. The nurse bowed her head and left me, alone with my thoughts. I had never gotten the chance to say goodbye, not properly. I didn't believe that he wouldn't survive. I couldn't allow myself to do that. Countless times we had gotten into situations just as dangerous, and we had survived. This should have been no different. I should have done something to prevent it. I was a fool, a fool more concerned about my enemy than my best friend. My only best friend. A tear started to well up in my eye, but I pushed it back. No. I wouldn't cry here, sprawled out like this in the middle of the hallway. Rage, combined with a stinging sadness filled my heart. My motivation for catching Moriarty was even clearer now. I needed vengeance. Not just for the victim in third class, not just for Molly or Mrs. Graston, although all three of these people were important. I needed to regain a sense of control. I hated to admit it sometimes, but John completed me, more than a woman ever could. He was the person who made my life make sense. That's the one thing I'll always remember about him.

I heaved myself up off the carpet. It seemed like a chore to walk now, when only hours ago I had been running. I occasionally put my hand on the wall for support, but all I felt was coldness. My vision was blurred, and as people passed by me they stared at me pitifully. Their blank looks were scarcely a source of comfort. There was only one thing I knew I wanted to do as I stumbled up to my room, and that was to get drunk. Very drunk. Drunk to the point where I could feel no emotion, no pain. All I wanted to do was forget this, forget all of this. Bring John back, somehow. I clicked the door to my room open and lunged for the brandy bottle on the nightstand. Chugging, hopelessly chugging, I fell back into the bed. One of John's shirts was crumpled up there, and I grabbed it, hoping it would make me feel better. I lay there, clutching the shirt, staining it with the tears I was finally able to let out.

Ten minutes later I heard a soft knocking on the door. I jerked out of my already half-drunkenness and peered over the pile of pillows I was laying on. "...John?" I shouted. I knew it wasn't him but I was so desperate to see him one final time that I said his name anyway.

Molly entered the room. "I heard about what happened, just now. I'm terribly sorry. I know how much you appreciated him. He was a good friend to me too. I'm just so shocked." She sat down on the bed next to me and tried to touch my arm with her hand but I swatted it away.

"Go. Leave me."

"Sherlock, you're in a horrible state. I can't just leave you like this. I came here to check on you. Everyone's worried about you. They hid the body, nobody wants you to see it."

"Why? Why?" I shouted. I was in a daze. A rush of blood came to my head and I chugged the last of the second bottle of brandy I had opened.

"He's still out there. He needs to be captured. You saw what he did to me," she gestured at her bruises and gashes "and you saw what he did to John. He wants you to play his game, whatever that may be. Only you can stop him."

I contemplated her words as she left the room. I chewed each one over in my brain and spit them out again, trying to figure out just what sort of a game I had gotten myself into. Then I remembered what had happened before John got shot. Did he believe the location I had created? Mrs. Graston was, in fact, hidden in the Captain's rooms under constant watch. Surely Moriarty knew I was bluffing?

Then a sudden thought came to me, an idea, one that John would be proud of. I started working everything out in my mind, how I would catch him, how he would fall into my hands for what was hopefully the final time, the final bow.

A man with a scraggly beard and what appeared to be workman's clothes gingerly opened the door to the Captain's quarters and slipped out. Finding the closest staircase that led down to the second class smoking room, he inched his way towards the designated meeting place written in the letter. He soon saw a man that matched the description of the one who had came to his room earlier that morning, before his shift. Following closely behind the man, they soon arrived in an empty room, presumably the one the man was staying in. He had introduced himself earlier as Mortimer, but explained that everyone simply called him M. The worker didn't give it another thought.

"I know where the girl is hiding." The worker, whose name was Johnathan, said.

"Good. I presume you gagged her like I told you to?"

"Yes, she didn't expect a thing until the gag was around her mouth." Johnathan shuffled his feet uncomfortably as M stared at him.

"Very well. Provided you give me the key, I'll take care of your 'little favor'."

"Thank you, sir." Johnathan passed the key over to M. He stood to get up but M blocked the doorway.

"You are staying right here until I've confirmed that the girl is where you say she is." He smiled and left the room, locking the door behind him.

I immediatley went out searching for Lestrade. He was the main link to my plan. The last time I saw him was when he had been singing in the hallway. Hopefully he had had a chance to sober up a little since then, although I wasn't any better myself. My heart was still pained, and a little cold water had done nothing to help my drunkenness.

I had figured out which stateroom Lestrade was in earlier on in the voyage, and I relied on this information now to help guide me to him. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so I barged right in. The door had been unlocked some time ago and judging by the cleanliness of the room it hadn't been inhabited for hours, at least. He was probably back in the dining saloon. Hurriedly I went in that direction, hoping that he would be there. I needed him now more than ever. He was the only one willing and capable enough to help me.

A man entered the stateroom Sherlock and John had been staying in and sighed at the mess on the floor. Then he saw the shirt that was left on the bed. Walking over to it, he realized what had happened. Emotional now, he wanted to do what he knew was right. But he just couldn't. Not yet.