A/N: Hello there! So this chapter is by far the longest, but it is the LAST ONE! *cheers and cries* I've had a great time writing it, and I hope you feel the same about reading it! Please leave reviews and tell me what you felt about the ending!

Thank you for reading this :)

Here's chapter 8!


When Mycroft Holmes opened his eyes, he realized he was tied to a chair. He struggled against the bonds, but he was still weak from whatever Kate gave him.

He shook Kate off his head. He had more urgent things to think about.

He looked around him and tried to deduce something – anything – about the room he was in, but his head was throbbing and the room was spinning. He could feel how weak he was – whatever was in his water was working well.

The door in front of him opened, and he felt like there's something incredible heavy on his chest that's keeping his lungs from breathing and his heart from pounding.

Kate Thompson entered the room, and behind her walked the supposedly-dead James Moriarty.

"No." he whispered, and started to fight his bonds frantically.

"Don't tire yourself, dear. You're still weak." Moriarty said as he walked closer. "Weak and vulnerable." he said with a vicious smile.

Mycroft couldn't help it, and he glanced at Kate. She seemed… Concerned. She mouthed something to him.

I'm sorry.

Mycroft shook his head. It must be his mind playing games with him. She betrayed him – she has no reason to be concerned.

"What's the matter? Did the Iceman's heart finally melt?" Moriarty asked, and his cruel smile grew bigger. He was less than a step away from Mycroft at that moment, but the tied man didn't dare to look up, for he knew his expression would betray him.

Since he didn't look up, he couldn't prepare himself for the blow.

His head swung to the opposite side, and he could feel blood flowing out of his nose. He lifted his eyes just enough to see what his enemy was holding – a metal pipe.

Another blow. This time to his arm. His jaw tightened and he forced himself not to scream in pain.

"So what is it like, Mr. Holmes?" the consulting criminal asked victoriously, so close to him that Mycroft could feel his breath on his face. "To be on the losing side? To be the one that's tied helplessly to a chair, that gets beaten to death because the only woman he had ever loved had betrayed him, because she preferred the only man that's cleverer than you? To be the –"

"James, please stop." a surprising plea came, and Moriarty straightened up and turned.

"But why should I stop, Kate, when I'm enjoying this so much?" Moriarty said and walked slowly to her, until he was right before her. He put his hand on her cheek, the same hand that punched him just a moment ago. Mycroft's jaw tightened.

"He doesn't even say anything. You can't really enjoy it when he doesn't show any signs of distress. Just get this over with."

James seemed to ponder her words for a moment. Then, he lifted the pipe in front of her, as if he was about to hit her.

"No!" Mycroft cried before he could stop himself.

When Moriarty turned to him, a large grin was spread on his face. "This has just become much more fun." the consulting criminal walked to him again, and Mycroft avoided eye contact again. But then he put the pipe under his chin, and forced him to look at him. He tried to put on the strongest expression he could, but he knew he failed when he say Moriarty's smile.

"I'm giving you a choice. You get to choose who gets beaten to death. You –" James turned and pointed the pipe at Kate, "Or her."

Mycroft tried to think logically. That woman betrayed him – she tricked him, made him fall in love with her, made him vulnerable and hurt him in ways no one has ever hurt him. She deserves to get beaten.

"I choose me." he whispered tiredly.

Moriarty's grin grew surprisingly bigger, and he lifted the pipe. "Once upon a time there was a man named Mycroft Holmes – he had fallen for a woman and it broke his heart and bones."

The hit came. And then another one. Each time Moriarty struck a different place, and each time hurt more than the previous one. Mycroft's eyes were shut tight, and he knew his tongue must be bleeding pretty badly since he was biting it to keep himself from yelling. He could hear Kate was crying and asking Moriarty to stop, but he never listened. He kept hitting him, expecting a cry of pain every time. But even though Mycroft was weak and broken-hearted, he was still mentally strong. He had already lost the mental fight – he couldn't lose the psychological one as well.

"Moriarty!" a voice suddenly called, and Mycroft opened his eyes to search for its source. There were two people at the door again, but this time they were both men.

"Sherlock, darling, you're late. You've missed the fun." Jim said in a sickening-sweet voice and went to Sherlock.

John's eyes were too fixed on the consulting criminal to notice Mycroft's condition; Sherlock, on the other hand, noticed. He didn't worry much about his brother's physical state, it was his expression that worried him the most – he looked so vulnerable, so broken, so… Weak. And Sherlock couldn't stand seeing his brother like that.

"Oh, I'm sure you've saved some for me." the detective said, and then turned to look at the blonde woman in the room. "Well played, Kate Thompson. I must say I'm impressed." he said, ignoring her weeps.

"Have you enjoyed the game so far?" Moriarty asked with a smug smile.

"Yes, very. It's been a while since someone beat up my brother, and to be honest, I miss it. May I?" he gestured the metal pipe.

"Be my guest." Jim said and handed him the pipe. Sherlock smiled at him.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!" John yelled. He thought they were trying to help Mycroft, not to make things worse for him.

The younger Holmes ignored him and walked to his brother, which looked up at him. That expression again. Sherlock thought morbidly. He could hear Mycroft begging him in his mind, asking him to help him. Sherlock gave him the smallest of nods, but he knew his brother saw it. Then, he hit him twice. He turned around to the Irish man with a smile. "Thank you. I owe you." he said, carefully choosing his words. He hoped John would get his message and realize he hasn't completely lost his mind.

"Anytime." The Irish man said and took the pipe back.

"But what's your point? I mean, as fun as it is to hit my brother to death, I'm sure there's another reason he's here. Another reason I'm here."

Moriarty smiled again. "Very good, Sherlock! I see your time playing dead hasn't made you any less fun. Yes, there is a second reason you're here today. You see, Sherlock, you're old news. I've already beaten you once, and it wasn't satisfying enough. My target this time is the only man in Britain that's more powerful than me – Mycroft Holmes." he said and turned to look at the man he's talking about. "I've broken him physically and mentally, and now it's time I'll break all of England. You're here just to watch – to watch the strongest man in England give away all of his power – for a woman!" he said joyfully.

He clapped his hands twice, and a red laser appeared on Kate's chest. Her eyes widened in terror, but not like Mycroft's.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, you're going to tell me everything you know, or else…" he put his hands closer together, and then separated them quickly to clap them.

"Stop!" Mycroft yelled.

Sherlock stared at his brother in dismay. Mycroft would rather die than to betray his country – why would he betray it for a girl, a girl who betrayed him?

Jim walked closer to Kate, and put his hand on her cheek, which made Mycroft nauseous.

"This was all just a game to you, wasn't it? You never really loved me. I spent time in prison for you, and you never truly loved me." she said in a surprisingly steady voice.

"Of course not, love. But I must admit," he said with a grin, "It's been a pleasure."

He removed his hand from her cheek, and then slapped it.

"Stop it. Stop." Mycroft breathed out in pain. It hurt him to talk, but he did his best.

"I'm sorry, what? I didn't hear that." Moriarty asked and put his hand behind his ear.

"You asked me choose. I chose myself. Hurt me, not her – you'll like it better." Moriarty was pacing slowly towards him, with an intrigued expression. "You like having the strongest man in England to your feet, begging you to stop." Moriarty lifted the pipe.

"Stop it, Mycroft." Kate begged. Sherlock wanted to say something too, to stop him – but he felt paralyzed, as if he was watching a film and there's nothing he could do.

Mycroft didn't stop. He had to get Moriarty away from her. "You want to hear me scream, to hear me cry. You want the world to see how James Moriarty made Mycroft Holmes ask him to kill him."

The blow came, and Mycroft let out a low cry. Moriarty's smile became huge, and he hit him again. This time, a louder cry came out.

Moriarty's laughter rolled in the room, and he hit again. This time Mycroft let himself scream, and Moriarty's laughter became even more frantic. Mycroft knew he wouldn't be conscious for long, so he needed to use that time to make sure he wouldn't hurt Kate.

"You never really cared about Kate. She was just a tool to you, a pawn in a gigantic game of chess. Hurting her wouldn't help you, because that's not the purpose of the game. It's your turn now – would you use it wisely?"

"Your brother is much more fun than you are, Sherlock." the consulting criminal called. "Checkmate." he said, and hit Mycroft's head.

Mycroft's eyes finally closed, and his head hung loosely on his shoulders.

John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder comfortingly, as there was nothing else he could do. Sherlock didn't know what to do – should he scream? Should he cry?

"No!" Kate screamed, and ran to Mycroft's still body, only to meet the pipe on her way to him. She fell on the floor, grabbing her beaten arm.

"So what do you think, Sherlock? Did you like my little show?" Moriarty asked the detective as he walked to him. "Usually, I don't do things myself, but this time was so tempting, I just had to. I've just defeated Britain's most powerful man – because he asked me to! But that's not the final move in the game. The final move," put his hand in his jacket, "Is this."

Moriarty showed them Mycroft's phone. "With one phone call, I can open any door I want. Who knows – I might even make myself prime minister!" he said gleefully.

He turned to Kate. "You can choose now. You can either walk out of this door with me, or never leave this room alive."

She shook her head. "I'll never follow you again."

"Alright, then. Goodbye, Kate –"

The loud noise of a gunshot interrupted Moriarty. He fell on the floor, his face frozen in a surprised expression.

John stared at his gun for a moment, and then put it back down. Sherlock ran to his brother without even glancing at Moriarty's body, and freed him from his bonds. He put his fingers on his neck and searched for a pulse. When he couldn't find it, he removed his fingers and then places them again on his neck.

"Sherlock…" John tried.

"I can't find a pulse. John, come help me, I can't find a pulse."

"Sherlock." he called his friend again. If only he'll look up from his brother's body…

Sherlock could hear Kate sobbing, but he didn't care – he needed to find the pulse. Because his brother couldn't be… He couldn't be…

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock put his hand under his brother's chin, and lift it up. He looked at his beaten up face, searched for any signs of life.

"No. This isn't possible. It can't be."

Sherlock flinched when he felt John's hand on his shoulder. He didn't even hear him come.

"I'm sorry."

He could feel the warm drops roll down his cheeks, each one cutting him like glass. The pain in his chest was unbearable.

He grabbed his brother's arm and dragged him down to the floor. He started the compressions, counting them quietly.

"Sherlock, stop it."

He moved next to his brother's head and opened his airway. He gave him a mouth-to-mouth breath. He started the compressions again.

"Sherlock…" John begged.

The detective could feel arms wrapped around him, but he shook them off and continued the compressions. If he'll stop, the blood pressure will drop and then he didn't do any good. Something blurred his vision, but he didn't care. The arms were wrapped around him again, but this time Sherlock couldn't shake them away. They were strong, and they pulled the sobbing Sherlock away from his brother's body.

"It can't be," he sobbed, "It can't be."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry." his friend whispered in his ear.

When Sherlock looked back at his brother, Kate was kneeling down beside him, her hand rested gently on his cheek.

"You!" he growled at her, like a beast searching for prey.

He shook John violently from him, and paced quickly towards the woman.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I really am." she cried.

"This is your fault!" he screamed at her. He kicked her, as hard as he could. John tried to hold him back, but he was stronger – he kicked her again.

"Stop it, Sherlock! He wouldn't have wanted you to hurt her!" John yelled, and that caught Sherlock's attention. He turned to him. "Mycroft died to make sure no one hurts her. Don't make him die in vain."

Sherlock blinked away the tears that wouldn't stop flowing. The pain filled his body and his head like poison, destroying everything it touches. He should have done something – there was so much he could have done! Yet he did nothing. Nothing.

"Yes, he did die for you. And you'll have to live the rest of your life knowing the best man you've ever met died for you even after you're betrayed him and broke his heart. I'll see you in hell." the detective hissed.

Kate got up and walked slowly to the door to exit the empty building. She turned around before she left, to take one last glance at the body.

"I did love him," she tried to explain, "Perhaps not as much as he loved me, but… I did love him."

"Then why did you let Moriarty have him?" the doctor couldn't help himself and asked.

She opened her mouth, but then her eyes met Sherlock's, so she closed her mouth. Even the sobs didn't ruin her beauty completely – she was still stunning, even like that, and that made Sherlock sick. She turned around and left, the sound of her heels slowly fading away.

Sherlock kneeled down beside his brother.

"I promised him I'll help him." he said quietly.

"There was nothing you could do."

"I could do something!" he screamed, and the tears started falling down again. He wiped his eyes angrily.

John was paralyzed. He knew Sherlock cared about his brother, no matter how hard he had tried to hide it, but he didn't know he loved him. He wondered earlier that day how would Sherlock react to his brother's death. He thought he would react the way he reacted to Irene Adler's death – he'd be quiet, won't eat and play the violin a lot. He never thought he'd see Sherlock break down like that.

Sherlock hated crying. He tried to hold back his tears, but no matter how hard he tried, they still came rolling down his cheeks, each one cutting him like glass. Mycroft's death was something he never considered, because it had always seemed so obvious that he'd live. He knew that his own life were in constant danger, and so were John's as long as they were friends. Mary's life were in danger because of her past, Lestrade's life were in danger because of his job (although he never actually did something dangerous), Mrs. Hudson's life were in danger because of her age… But Mycroft always seemed so steady. Like the oldest building in the neighborhood that everyone thinks will collapse because of its cracks and old age, yet it never does. Sherlock wasn't a fool, he knew that Mycroft's job includes a lot of risks, but he never thought… He never even imagined…

"Sherlock, we have to go." the doctor said softly, but his friend wasn't listening.

The detective bent down next to Moriarty's body, and took his brother's phone out of its dead hand. He handed it to John without turning. He couldn't look at that phone for more than a second. Just as he was about to get up, he heard something. His eyes widened when he recognized the sound.

Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive…

Sherlock put his hand on the body's pocket and felt the phone. He pulled it out and picked up.

"Hello?" he asked, hesitated.

"Hello darling!" said a voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"No. No, that's impossible!" the detective cried.

"Don't be silly, love, of course I'm not alive. But I knew you'd kill me." Moriarty's voice laughed, and then continued in an irritated tone. "Always so predictable, so boring! You'll always be one step behind me!" there was a short pause, before the recording continued. "Would you like to know what's going to happen next, Johnny-boy?" Jim asked, suddenly ignoring the detective.

John looked at Sherlock in a shocked looked. Was he supposed to say something?

"I'm waiting."

"Yes." the doctor blurted.

"Say please." Moriarty said, as if he was actually alive and listening.

"Please."

There was a short pause again, and Sherlock knew Moriarty was smiling at that moment.

"You see, dear, I've promised Sherlock a long time ago I'll burn his heart out. And I did – I killed his brother right in front of his eyes!" he exclaimed triumphantly, but then his tone became sadder. "But it wasn't enough, because he still has someone to help him, someone to support him." the recording became silent again, long enough to let Sherlock understand the subtext.

"No. No!" he yelled.

Moriarty laughed. "You always say you're the cleverest, that you never forget anything, but this time you slipped up. You forgot about something!"

The second he finished saying that, a red dot appeared on John's chest.

"You forgot about my sniper!" he announced happily.

John was trembling in fear, but then his eyes met Sherlock's. He could see in how much pain his friend was, how scared he was, and that brought him strength he didn't know he had. He stopped trembling, and gave Sherlock a reassuring look. "It's alright." he said quietly, fighting the urge to look at the little laser dot that's on his chest.

"No, it isn't! What about Mary? How will she raise the baby alone?"

John swallowed hard. With every piece of strength he had, he pushed Mary and his unborn child out of his mind. "She'll understand," he said, and he meant it. "Besides, you won't let me die." he said with a sad chuckle, and then regretted it immediately when he saw Sherlock's expression. There was nothing the detective could do to help him, and the both knew it. He shouldn't have said it.

"Johnny-boy, would you like to know what's going to happen now?"

No, he didn't. "Yes."

"You're going to die, right here, in front of your best friend. And when you die, the police will arrive, and guess what they'll find? A room with two bodies and their favourite sociopath! It's pointless to say that the sniper's gun is identical to yours, so they'll also find the weapon next to him! So our detective friend here will be hunted by everyone he knows and cares about for the rest of his life, and the only people that will be able to help him will be dead!" Moriarty said, and his laughter rolled in the room, sending chills down John's spine.

"Chao, Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty said for the last time, and the recording stopped.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." the doctor said.

"No, stop it." the detective begged.

The doctor chuckled bitterly. "Is this what it felt like? To stand in front of your best friend and say goodbye?" he cleared his throat. "I still think the same way I did when I thought you were dead. You're the best and most human man I have ever –"

"Stop talking like your about to die." Sherlock begged again, the tears making his voice hoarse.

"But I am about to die, Sherlock. You asked me once to tell you what I would say if I were dying. Now I know. Sherlock, I –"

The sound of a shot fired echoed in the room, and John fell on the floor. Sherlock ran to him, and put his hand under his head. He was still alive, but Sherlock knew it was only temporary. The bullet was aimed directly at his heart. The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but the detective put his hand on his friend's mouth. He was too weak to talk now.

"It's okay, John. It's alright. I know." Sherlock whispered to his friend soothingly. "It's alright. Close your eyes. It's okay. I'll explain it to Mary. She'll understand." he said, and he saw the relief in his friend's eyes, that was immediately replaced by exhaustion.

"Go to sleep, John. Shhh, it's alright. Go to sleep." he whispered, unable to hold back his sobs anymore.

Dr. John Watson closed his eyes slowly for the last time, and Sherlock stroked his hair until he couldn't hear his breaths anymore.

He could hear the police sirens getting closer and closer. He knew that in a matter of seconds he will be arrested, doomed to live in excruciating pain.

Unless…

He picked up John's pistol. Yes, it was a selfish thing to do, and he knew that. But he ran out of people to care about.

Lestrade and two other policemen entered the room. Sherlock could see the shocked expression spreading over his face. The detective raised his gun and aimed it at him.

"He's armed!" a man yelled.

Sherlock pretended to be about to pull the trigger, and the policeman fired his pistol. He hit his chest, although Sherlock knew he missed his heart. He collapsed on the floor, but just before he did he glimpsed at Lestrade's hurt expression.

The consulting detective closed his eyes. He already knew what being shot at would feel like. He instinctively entered his mind palace.

John and Mycroft were standing right in front of him.

"Are you out of your mind?!" John cried. "You weren't supposed to die! Fight, Sherlock!"

Sherlock didn't know what to say. How could he tell him he can't live without him?

"Right before you… died," the detective said, "You were saying something."

The doctor's expression softened. "Yes, I was. I said that –"

The room suddenly tilted sideways, and Sherlock fell on the floor, although John and Mycroft didn't even move.

"Oh, Sherlock," his older brother said with a worried look, "What have you done?"

"I'm sorry." the detective said. "I really am."

He could feel the pain now. Deep and excruciating, but it'll end soon. He blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes, there was a circle of people around him, everyone he had ever cared about: his parents, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Mary, and finally, John. They were all smiling to him, even Mycroft was grinning.

"We're not angry, Sherlock." Molly said. "We understand."

"It's easier to leave. You'll like it. No idiots." Mycroft said, and a faint smile spread on Sherlock's face.

"I'll understand," Mary said, "I'm stronger than you think. I'll know it wasn't you."

"I'll help her," his father said and wrapped his arm around his mother, "She's not alone."

Sherlock was suddenly strong enough to talk. "Thank you." he said.

John smiled to him, and Sherlock was suddenly aware that he was holding his hand. It was warm.

"It's fine, Sherlock. I'm not mad."

"I'm scared." Sherlock admitted. The pain was getting weaker, and he knew what that meant.

John chuckled. "The world's only consulting detective is afraid? I thought danger was your middle name."

"Actually, his middle name is Sherlock." Mycroft commented, and John laughed.

"Shut up, Mycroft." Sherlock said with a smile. It was getting easier to breathe.

"Close your eyes, Sherlock." John said, and he obeyed. He wasn't afraid anymore. "We'll be right here when you'll open them. I'm not going anywhere." the doctor said softly.

Sherlock could feel himself falling into a deep and welcome sleep.

Moriarty had lost the game.