A/N: *quietly slides in, leaves chapter, then runs away again*


John Harrison's P.O.V.

"You're insane!" John hissed at him through the cage, his arm twisting behind his back to hide the mobile that he was holding, though Harrison already knew it was there. "And you're not going to fool me any longer."

Harrison chuckled at John's glare, ignoring the bit of Sherlock inside him that was trying to claw his way out. "Oh, sweetie, I thought you enjoyed killing Lestrade?" He murmured, giving Mycroft a cursory glance before giving John his full attention.

"I didn't kill him." John said, a smug look on his face. Harrison froze, looking at John with a mixture of confusion, anger, and joy. "Lestrade is still alive."

"That's-"

"Impossible?" John cut Harrison off, "No, not really. I saw him nearly every day since Sherlock vanished. When I found out that Sherlock was still alive in you, I told Lestrade."

The conflicting emotions swelled inside Harrison, Sherlock nearly crying tears of relief, and Harrison feeling murderously angry. "And so you planned this?"

"I did, yes." John said, looking defiant. "Well…not this part, of course. I didn't think you would lock me up."

Sherlock's joy began to affect Harrison, and the anger at John's betrayal dissipated. Instead, a strange feeling of mirth spread through him, causing him to burst out laughing.

"Oh, John!" Harrison beamed, pressing himself up against the bars, making John back away, hitting the nearest wall. "You managed to fool even me! Oh, the fun we could have together!"

"You're a monster." John spat out. Harrison leered at him through the bars.

"And you like that. Don't think you can hide your excitement from me, John. I can see your pulse racing. You crave excitement, and I can give that to you."

"You give me adrenaline." John shot back, still huddled against the wall. Out of the corner of Harrison's vision, he saw Mycroft shift slightly, and he shot the man a glare before turning back to John.

"My brother is getting antsy." Harrison remarked. "Perhaps I should kill him before Lestrade arrives…I am assuming that's why you are still hiding your mobile behind your back."

John's arm, which had been holding the mobile, flopped to his side, the screen just flickering off. Harrison hummed his approval, stepping away from the wall of the cage and turning so he could face both Mycroft and John.

"I don't understand why you didn't join Moriarty when he was rampant." Harrison commented offhandedly, his eyes fixed on Mycroft now, clearly thinking of all the different ways he could destroy the man.

"Because Moriarty would have killed Sherlock." John replied softly. "And Sherlock happened to be someone I cared about."

Harrison pulled a small knife out of his pocket, twirling it around deftly in his fingers. He glanced up to see Mycroft eyeing him warily, his forehead shiny with sweat. "There's that tricky past tense again." Sherlock sing-songed, "You cared then, but you don't care now. You don't mind that I am destroying Sherlock bit by bit." He smirked slightly, stalking towards Mycroft, who stayed frozen in place.

"I do still care about him!" John said, his voice taking on a hint of panic. "He's my friend. And you're not him!"

"John, I-" Sherlock broke through momentarily, making Harrison freeze in place for a second, attempting to regain control. "You cared about him so much that you broke his heart! You said you enjoyed me because you felt needed, but Sherly needed you too, and you spat all over that. No, John Watson, you grew bored of Sherlock. You want me instead."

"Sherlock, I know you're still in there." John said, and Harrison turned to glare at John. "I need you to be strong…take back control."

Harrison's body began to tremble as Sherlock attempted to take back control. "No, he never loved you. Never!" He hissed to himself, turning away from a stricken looking John to a horrified Mycroft. Harrison lunged forward, grabbing the well-dressed man by his lapels. "Why, hello brother."

"Mycroft, you have to get away!" John called, as if Mycroft wasn't already struggling against his grip. "He doesn't care about you. Sherlock did, but Harrison doesn't!"

"Well, that's just not true!" Harrison leered down at him. "I care very much about you, Mycroft. I care about how much you control…I care how lovely your blood will look on our walls…" A strong tremor wracked Harrison's body, and he let Mycroft go, falling to the floor. He closed his eyes briefly, and Sherlock opened them, looking up at his brother in horror. Sherlock quickly reached into his leather coat pocket and pulled out the key, tossing it to Mycroft before Harrison could regain control. "Get out of here…both of you."

Mycroft darted around Sherlock, unlocking John's cell. John walked out of the cell, standing next to where Sherlock was kneeling, not daring to touch the man. Sherlock, still shaking, scooted away from John as if he were diseased.

"Mycroft, get him out of here." Sherlock demanded, rising slowly from the floor. "You can come back to finish me off…"

"I can't leave you." John argued as Sherlock reached out to grab hold of the makeshift prison, holding himself up. "Not until I know Harrison is gone…"

"I don't think he'll leave, John." Sherlock said softly, his eyes closing so he couldn't see John's reactions. "Mycroft...he'll get someone to shoot me in the head, destroy him completely."

"Sherlock…" Mycroft's voice was low, thick with hidden emotion.

"It is unavoidable." Sherlock responded. "Lestrade could possibly do it. He's coming up the stairs now."

Sure enough, a dull thudding could be heard in the lounge of 221B, Lestrade, and what sounded to be four or five officers running up the stairs. Sherlock's eyes opened to see an upset looking John staring at him, ignoring the police as they entered the flat, all guns pointing at the criminal.

"No, you can't die." John growled.

"John, it's alright." Sherlock said, a smile that didn't reach his eyes forming on his face. "This way….you don't have to feel guilty about me, either. You can live your life, be happy. Just know that…that I'll always love you."

"Stop it, Sherlock. Just- shut up." John shook his head, "I'm not letting him win, and you can't let him win, either. You're better than him. I was wrong."

"No, John. I'm better. At everything." Harrison managed to sneak through Sherlock's defences. He watched John wince, stamping down Harrison quickly. "John…I can't have you stuck with me, afraid to leave because you think that bastard will return if you do."

Sherlock, with the aid of the bars, walked into the makeshift prison, closing the door behind him with an air of finality. "I would rather be a fond memory in your heart than an iron ball at your ankle." Sherlock gave the bars a quick shake, satisfied at how sturdy they were. He looked up at John whose eyes were distraught. "I love you, John Hamish Watson. Mycroft, please take him outside."

"Isn't there something you can do?" John asked Mycroft, turning to the elder Holmes. "Anything?" A quick shake of the head answered his pleading, and the blond turned to Sherlock once more.

"John…" Sherlock extended his hand, reaching for John as he did all those years ago from the rooftop of St. Bart's. "Please leave. I don't want you to see this."

Sherlock was surprised when John laced his fingers through his own, clasping his hand tightly. "I can't leave you…I can't." John whispered.

"You have to, John." Sherlock smiled weakly, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "You don't owe me anything. After all, I had your love once."

"This is all my fault." John said, squeezing his hand tighter. "I am so sorry, Sherlock."

"This isn't your fault." Sherlock corrected gently, bringing John's hand to his lips briefly. "I never deserved your love. Now, let me do something for you. Mycroft, Lestrade, I believe you will have to removed John from the room by force."

"I can't leave you." John shook his head frantically. "I can't…I loved you, I still care about you. Please, I can't just abandon you."

"You're not abandoning me." Sherlock said as Lestrade grabbed hold of John's arm. He could see the conflict in the Detective Inspector's eyes, the disgust at what Sherlock had done and the worry for his friend mixed together in his eyes. "Lestrade should leave as well."

Mycroft shot Sherlock an unreadable look before walking over to join Lestrade and John, leading them towards the door. One of the officers began preparing his gun, checking it for debris and making sure it was polished before flicking the safety off.

"No!" John hollered, struggling against the gently arms of Mycroft and Lestrade. "No, you can't do this, you can't kill him!"

"What do you suggest we do?" Mycroft asked as they reached the open door. Sherlock was startled to see tears on the elder's cheek. "He's my brother…but he's also the worst terrorist the world has ever seen. Do you suggest we let him walk free?"

"If you kill anyone, it should be me!" John cried, tugging still. "Harrison was after me, wanted me. Maybe if I were gone, he would vanish."

"No." Sherlock growled, easily heard from the doorway. "You are innocent. More physical force seems to be necessary."

Sherlock turned to look at the shooter, a man he did not know. That was probably for the best, however. Sherlock couldn't imagine anyone he knew having to kill him. It would end disastrously, either with him dying a painful death out of spite, or out of a desire not to kill him. The gun was aimed at his head, the gunman unflinching, and an expert in his job.

"NO!" John yelled, trying to get to Sherlock, to the gunman.

Goodbye, John.

The resulting gunshot was deafening.