A/N: It's Suuunday, and the big update day. (grins and rubs hands together) Yay?

After the previous cliffie you probably want to move on with the story ASAP. But first…! Thank you, so very much, for you reviews and support! You can't even imagine how happy it makes me that this crossover gained so many friends. (HUGS)

Awkay, it's go time! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

The Final Trap

/ The nights between Trevor Durbin's visits were the worst. The unbelievable amount of physical discomfort wasn't the worst part, nor was the never ending and constantly growing amount of shame. The most horrendous bit were the nightmares.

They came every single night, as soon as Spencer drifted into sleep. Haunted him. Filled his head with such terrifying images that no human being deserved.

Spencer bolted to a sitting position, his mouth open for a scream that his impossibly tight throat wasn't able to produce and cold sweat lingering on his skin. He was trembling so hard that he was barely able to sit up straight. Large tears were running down his cheeks like rivers. He didn't have to worry about sobbing for he didn't have enough breath for such.

"Spencer?" William's voice, no matter how comforting, startled him. Bedsheets sighed while the older boy moved. "Did you have a nightmare?"

It took a moment before Spencer remembered. Yes, they were in a tent in a forest, camping, five other boys and two adults. Safe, with no Trevor Durbin in immediate presence. But the dream kept a firm hold of him. Spencer nodded furiously. "Yeah", he mumbled.

William was quiet for a long time. Then whispered, careful not to wake up the other boys and the adults sleeping nearby. "Just go back to sleep. It'll be okay."

Spencer swallowed. All of a sudden he felt embarrassed. "Promise?"

"Yes, Spencer. I promise. Now sleep."

Trying to find some comfort from William's words Spencer forced himself to close his eyes and settled back down, still trembling. Laying there, continuing to shiver, he hoped desperately that the nightmare would be over soon. Still the monsters remained. /

The first thing John felt when consciousness began to rush back in was intense pain. His head felt like it'd been crushed and his ribs were on fire. The worst, however, was the immense weight sitting on his chest. It made breathing excruciatingly painful and borderline impossible. And there was something stuffed into his throat. Instantly John's fighting instincts activated.

He groaned and fumbled, attempting to tear off the mystery item. Because that was what brought him the discomfort, wasn't it? What was happening to him?

All of a sudden there was a familiar voice. It echoed in his head and sounded a little static but there it was anyway. "Leave that alone. You need help with breathing, for now." A hand was laid on top of his, making whatever little movements it'd been capable of impossible. Were those… fingers on his pulse point? "You've been injured but you'll be fine. We're all going to be fine. Just focus on that and try to calm down."

John frowned, with a tremendous amount of effort managing to coax his eyes halfway open. At first he was able to make out a blurry blob. In a while it sharpened to Sherlock's silhouette. The current circumstances weren't able to hinder the surge of immense relief that flowed through John.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

The hand that was currently squashed by Sherlock's twitched although he wasn't fully sure what he wanted to do. The detective's longer fingers… Did they just wrap around his…? His mind sunk into a fog before he found out for sure.

"John." Was that panic? "They said that you wouldn't be awake for long, but… Stay with me, alright? Listen to me." For a moment John thought that he saw tears in Sherlock's eyes but it was most likely just a trick of his imagination. His vision was blurry, anyway. "You'll be fine. I promise. But I need you to keep fighting." There was a brief pause during which the dark almost won once more. "You're the strongest man I know. So prove it."

Despite the immense amount of pain and lingering fear John just had to smile. The best as what turned out to be his breathing tube allowed, anyway. Sherlock was right there, alive and at least remotely well. Saying that everything was going to be alright.

And, well, since when had the great Sherlock Holmes ever been wrong?

Through the glass separating the ICU-cubicle from the hallway Mycroft observed his brother and the doctor with a frown on his face. His arms were folded while something attempted to stir to life in his chest. Sentiment? Heavens, no! But something equally infuriating.

Mycroft wondered with a degree of gloom if his still talking brother even noticed that John wasn't conscious any longer, might never be again. If Sherlock noticed that the blogger's vitals were dropping dangerously. If Sherlock had admitted, even to himself, just how dangerously close he was to losing his pressure point.

Mycroft, to his misfortune, couldn't keep himself from noticing those things. And they filled him with something he was far from comfortable with. Sheer terror.

Because he knew exactly why Duncan Durbin had been careless enough to give Sherlock the chance to live. The delusional, mentally ill criminal had somehow been coherent enough to realize an obvious fact. If they were to lose John, they'd lose Sherlock as well, in every possible sense of the word. John had in some miraculous way been able to survive without Sherlock through those two long years after the Fall. Mycroft didn't imagine that his brother would be able to do the same. Not when at some point John had become pretty much Sherlock's whole world.

Sherlock would be fine physically. He'd seen his brother overcome far worse and at least this time the man was surrounded by mostly competent medical professionals. But if they lost John…

So yes, Mycroft Holmes – the ice man – was very scared. Because he didn't want to lose his brother. Couldn't even think of the possibility. In fact, he was more than willing to do anything to keep it from happening.

Somehow Mycroft had enough presence of mind to distinguish the sound of a arriving text message. He grabbed his cell-phone faster than his thoughts processed it. His eyes flashed at the words that greeted him.

'It's been done, I'm on my way.'

While Aaron and David announced that they'd drive Duncan to the station and Alex, still recovering from her concussion, phoned that she'd stay in the hospital to keep an eye on Spencer and Derek, JJ felt that there was something she needed to do. As soon as she'd received a word that Duncan's mother had been taken to the hospital she headed towards the house. Even as she parked and emerged from her car she wondered what in the world she was doing there.

JJ stood still for the longest time, staring at the building like it was her mortal enemy. In the end she inhaled a deep breath, her shoulders tensing. It took longer than it should've before she actually moved.

There seemed to be a hazardous breath in the air when she stepped in and she shivered, folding her arms when a cold she couldn't explain filled her. She felt silly, to be so afraid of what was nothing more than a lifeless pile of wood and stone. Still her steps were tense and her hand remained close to her gun while she made her way towards where she knew Duncan's room to be.

The room was bleak, to put it kindly. Nothing but a bed and a desk sat there, along with a broken looking chair. There was also a mirror. Certain words had been written on it over and over again with what she hoped to be a red pen, like a punishment or a prayer.

'MAKE HIS VOICE GO AWAY'

JJ swallowed, feeling even colder than before. Of course she'd known how sick the entire Durbin family was. But this…

And then she noticed something amongst the words. At first she imagined that it was some sort of a stain. But the longer she looked the more shape it gained.

Was that… an arrow?

Knowing full well that she was making a potentially disastrous mistake JJ followed the mark to the room's most shadowy corner. Upon first glance there was nothing. But when she knocked on the wall she heard a hollow echo.

A hole…?

Forcing her way through the thin wallpaper wasn't much of a struggle. JJ peered into the dark, anxiously trying to see. Then she spotted the neatly folded cardboard.

What she pulled out was a pair of massive, full written Mind Maps that would've put any of BAU's to shame. They must've taken years to create. Her eyes widened with shock and horror while they drank in the words.

Plans. Possibilities. Options and backup plans, tens of them. Calculations. Estimations on innocent casualties.

That was when she noticed something that made her blood turn into ice. A vivid description of Spencer's vest. But the plan didn't end there.

JJ's body froze. Her heart forgot a valuable beat. "Oh my god…!" she gasped. Words from a conversation not too long ago played in her head.

/ "He waited for such a long time. Explosion… Wouldn't it be… too fast? Unsatisfying?"

"Sooner or later comes a point where a person decides that all that matters is finally getting the task done. He must've set several traps. This… was merely the one that snapped first."

"And he'll attempt to strike again." /

JJ's hand trembled pitiably while she pulled out her cell-phone, hoping from the bottom of her heart that she wasn't too late.

The air inside a operating theater was heavy and loaded with tension while the group gathered inside did everything there was in their power to save their patient. Dr. Gael Donovan, who had nothing but his thirty-five years of job experience to help him perform a miracle, was the one in main charge. Despite everything he'd see during his career sweat gathered to his forehead at the extend of his patient's injuries.

Broken bones, a lot of them. Internal bleeding. A horrible amount of lost blood. But somehow Dr. Spencer Reid was still hanging in there, barely but still. And for as long as the man chose to keep doing so Gael planned on fighting with him.

The younger man wasn't making it easy on him, though.

Gael groaned, his eyes narrowing. "Shit…", he muttered. "His left lung is collapsing."

"So is his blood pressure", the nurse keeping an eye on the monitors notified in a grim tone. There was a dark look in her blue eyes.

Spencer was bleeding internally from some spot that they hadn't managed to get their hands on yet, then. Gael swore inwardly, adding as much speed to his motions as he dared to without risking the patient's safety. Continued the search for a miracle.

Come on, kid. You've been holding on for this long. Don't you dare start giving up on me now.

His patient wasn't listening, though. Or perhaps fate itself wasn't on their side. Because on the screen the blood pressure kept dropping and the man's pulse gained a far from steady rhythm. And soon the lines on the monitor's screen turned flat.

Outside the hospital Mycroft sat on a bench, eagerly breathing in air that was free of the hospital's stench. In a few moments he realized that he wasn't alone anymore. His eyes darted to the side to see just the person he'd been expecting. "So it's done?"

Taking a seat beside him, yet keeping a subtle distance, Mary Watson nodded. "I just gave it to the staff. They're… wondering if it came too late but they're trying."

Mycroft nodded, not finding any words that would've felt right for the confusing situation. With a glance that only the most keen of eyes would discover he inspected his companion. There was a bruise on Mary's face and shadows in her eyes.

For the first time he was able to see a touch of a loving wife and mother to be under the assassin's mask.

/ Thirty-nine years old Dr. Damian Murphy, a extremely gifted chemist with shortcut, wild reddish hair and scared brown eyes that were shielded by glasses, was once the honor student of his class. Still he had been working for Moriarty's organization almost from the moment he graduated. It wasn't the honest work his mother would've wanted for him and he was terrified of the man but the money was too powerful of a temptation. During those endless years he was forced to do a lot of things that he'd never forgive himself for.

When the news broke that Moriarty was dead Damian sighed a long, deep breath of relief. He really shouldn't have. Because just when he'd lulled himself into safety one encounter brought his past haunting with venom.

Damian entered his office and out of instinct tried to switch on the lights. Nothing happened. And that's when he smelled it. Claire de la Lune.

In less than four seconds he was able to distinguish the person sitting only steps away. A woman, apparently heavily pregnant. Which didn't make the air around her any less dangerous. "Do not run, Dr. Murphy. If you do I'll stop you to the spot."

Despite her threat Damian backed away a step. Just one. Cold sweat lingered on his skin while his heart sped on. "Who the hell are you?!"

The intruder didn't seem eager to answer. "Six years ago Moriarty's associate, Samuel Durbin, delivered you a… request. You were to develop a poison that no blood tests would be able to detect. One that kills the victim in a specific amount of hours."

Damian gulped and stared at the threatening silhouette. Unable to move. Barely able to breathe. "Yes", he admitted helplessly in the end.

"Now, you claimed that you developed only one dosage of antidote. But I know, for a fact, that you always produce two dosages of everything you invent. The second one is just for you, a memento. So, I'd like to propose a deal…" A knife flashed in the dark. "You give me the remaining dosage of antidote for that particular poison. Or I'll show you just how creative I can be with this thing." /

"You do realize that your involvement can never be discovered, don't you?"

Mary gave Mycroft a dry look. "Yes. You've made that much perfectly clear." There was a prolonged moment of silence. "I hope that you understand now that I don't want any harm on your brother. I understand how much the two of them need each other."

Mycroft's eyes were made of stone when he glared at her. "Your presence in my brother's life will always be a threat to him. That's something I've chosen to tolerate, albeit not gladly, because as it is there's no other option." His tone was nothing short of deadly. "But trust me, Mrs. Watson… If he's ever harmed because of you again I'll make sure that there'll be nothing left of your pathetic existence. Is that clear?"

Mary's expression remained impressively nonplussed. "Yes. Perfectly."

The reluctant comrades got up almost simultaneously, as though out of some silent agreement. Mary was already about to walk away until she spoke once more. "You'll let me know as soon as you know if the antidote worked, won't you?"

Mycroft gritted his teeth. "Yes." But only because Sherlock would've wanted him to.

With that as their goodbyes Mycroft walked back into the hospital. Mary made her way into the shadowy streets, not looking back even once because it would've been too painful. While she disappeared into the shadows Mycroft was swallowed by the building's fluorescent lights.

In the meantime a heavy silence lingered in the car that Aaron drove towards the police station. On the backseat David and Duncan hadn't exchanged a word since they left the nightmarish trap. With adrenaline fading and immense worry taking over David found himself feeling exhausted.

All of a sudden Duncan chuckled. "You should see the look on your face, agent Rossi. How much would you give to be allowed to punch me? Or to kill me with your own hands?"

David gritted his teeth to keep quiet and looked away pointedly.

Duncan clicked his tongue. "Now that's just rude. I was only trying to start a nice conversation." There was a pause. "Aren't you even curious to hear how I pulled off it all?"

At that point David couldn't control his tongue anymore. "I don't care how", he snarled. "All that matters is that it's over and you'll spend the rest of your miserable life locked up."

Duncan – or well, whatever he wanted to be called at the moment – smiled in a way that would've made anyone shiver. "You're FBI-agents. Surely you've been taught not to jump into conclusions?" The man shifted barely visibly. "Because I'm not quite finished yet."

A second too late David realized that Duncan's handcuffs were open. And somehow there was a needle and a syringe in the psychopath's hold. He never had the time to warn Aaron.

Faster than a blink Duncan moved and shoved the needle through Aaron's skin, emptying the syringe's contents into the unit chief's bloodstream.

The contact was so sudden that it took Aaron a dangerously long moment to realize what happened. By the time he did there was nothing he could do. In a flash everything was spinning and swaying in his line of vision. The last thing he realized before the darkness came was that the car was no longer under his control. And the last thing he heard was David's shout of panic.

Five minutes later Aaron's cell-phone rang twice in the car wreckage. The first phone call was from JJ. The second one was from the hospital. None of the three unmoving people in the practically destroyed vehicle was able to pick up.

TBC

A/N: What? Of course there was a one more trap. (winces) Soooo, how's everything going to end? Will everyone make it?

PLEASE, do leave a note! Was that any good, at all? You'll be the judges.

ONLY ONE MORE CHAPTER AND A EPILOGUE TO GO!

Until next time, you all! I truly hope that I'll see you at the next bit.

Take care!