John thought being in combat was dreadful. The dead bodies, the exhaustion, the pain. Truly awful. But, it was now a memory of relief. He had spent the next several minutes being beaten. His lower lip was numb and he had a massive pain in his head.

Several of his ribs were broken. He could tell. Moriarty had beaten him to a pulp. He panted aloud as he caught his breath.

"This...is what I should've done..a long time ago," Moriarty chuckled as he raised his fist in the air to strike John again.

John took the punch and spit out a mouthful of blood. "I asked, but you refused."

"It'll just tear Sherlock apart...to hear that your filthy corpse was found in some dark alley, John."

"He won't...bat an eyelash," John muttered.

Moriarty laughed and threw his arms in the air. "Of course. He's had his heart broken by you."

More punches followed. The van stopped and Moriarty dragged John to his feet. "Well, that was fast. We're already here."

It was dark out and John's vision was blurry from the beating he took to the head. Moriarty led the way until he threw John down onto the ground.

"I really, really ought to thank you, my dear John. Without you, no one would've ever really broken the great Sherlock Holmes. But, you helped me do that. So, thank you. Now, I don't have any further use of you."

He kicked John in the stomach and wiped his forehead. John struggled to keep his eyes open. He felt dizzy and his eyelids were heavy.

John felt himself lying on something metal. He slowly sat up and realized he was lying on train tracks. Moriarty took out his gun and aimed it at John.

"So many others tried to bring him down and finish him. They never realized what the key was. Or who it was, rather."

John trembled. "Well...you're welcome."

Meanwhile, back at their flat, Sherlock eyed John's laptop. He blew out a mouthful of smoke and allowed the chemicals to fill and numb him. Lestrade paced the floor, thinking aloud.

"Not a word of news. Where could he have taken him? They could be anywhere by now? What's nearby that alley?"

Sherlock took another puff from his cigar and chuckled. Lestrade glanced at him and shook his head.

"Will you stop sitting there? Your best friend is missing!"

Sherlock side-smiled. "A bloody liar and a spy is all he is."

Lestrade grimaced. "He did it to prevent anything from happening to you. To help you-"

Suddenly, Sherlock stood up. "I need some air. Hold that thought, would you?"

He headed downstairs as Lestrade stood alone, dumbstruck. "What? Sherlock!"

He hurried after him as he heard the front door shut. Lestrade opened it but Sherlock had vanished. He ran into the street and tried to find him, but the detective had gone.

"The train isn't due for another few minutes. Any final words?" Moriarty smiled.

John swallowed. "None that I'd like to say in front of you."

The ground beneath them began to shake. John felt his heart racing as he turned to look to his right. The train was coming.

Moriarty gasped. "That's the train! I should be off, then."

He turned and started to walk off. "Oh, wait!"

Moriarty fired his gun and John cried out in pain. A bullet had lodged into his leg. The train was several feet away and its whistle began to blow aloud. John cringed from the piercing sound.

"Help! Somebody!" John shouted, but his cries were silenced by the train whistle.

Moriarty bent down and grabbed a handful of John's hair. "Look on the bright side, John! After tonight, no one will question me and no one will be in any longer!"

With all his courage, John spit in the villain's face and he drew back. Moriarty chuckled as he hit John in the head where he had the cut.

Suddenly, Moriarty was thrown off his feet. Sherlock held him down and managed to get the gun away from him. It skidded across the ground as the two men wrestled each other.

"How did you-!" Moriarty gasped as Sherlock punched him several times.

John struggled to get off the tracks but every move he made was painful. Sherlock gave Moriarty one final punch before the train passed them.

John gave a hoarse scream and a thud was heard.

Sherlock's eyes shot towards the tracks. John was no longer there. His chest tensed and his breathing paused.

Then, he let out a cry. "JOHN!"

Mouth covered in blood, Moriarty saw his chance to get up. He started to laugh as Sherlock watched the train pass by.

"Pity. He never got a goodbye kiss," he mocked.

Sherlock couldn't tell you what happened after that. He does, however, recall getting ahold of Moriarty's gun. The villain paused and let out a laugh as he put his hands in the air.

"Go on. Avenge your little pet."

Sherlock held the gun tightly as he finger itched to pull the trigger. The train continued passing by as Sherlock felt a sense of delicious revenge. Moriarty was on his knees at his mercy. All it took was a pull of a trigger.

"You ever killed a man, Sherlock?"

"Oh, several. You'd just be the crowning jewel of the list."

Moriarty chuckled. "Well, what's stopping you?"

What was stopping him? Isn't this what John would want? Isn't this what any man with a sense of sanity do?

BANG!

Sherlock dropped the gun and felt his hands trembling. He hung his head and said nothing. Suddenly, he heard a sound. Someone else was there. They were silently weeping. He looked around but saw no one.

"Who's there?" Sherlock asked.

After a pause, a voice filled the air. "Sherlock..?"

Sherlock hurried to the tracks and noticed that a few feet from them was a steep drop. He slowly climbed down into the darkness and felt himself land on something. He heard a grunt and grimaced.

"John?"

With a cough and a small gasp. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock bent down and tried to make out the face. It was John. Quickly, he untied him and placed his head on his lap. John let out a grunt as he rested his head on Sherlock's lap.

"John...are you..alright? Does anything hurt?"

John hissed with pain. "...My leg. Everything bloody hurts!"

Sherlock shushed him and tried to keep him calm. "It's alright. Lestrade should be right behind me."

"..What made you come back?"

"Don't talk. Just stay calm and relax."

"I was nearly killed by a train! How the hell am I supposed to-"

"John!"

They stated at each other for a moment. Suddenly, they heard rapid footsteps and screeching tires.

"Sherlock! John, where are you?"

John felt relief. "Lestrade..."

"We're down here! Get a cot or something! John's badly wounded!"

Lestrade crossed the tracks and looked down to find the two men. "For God's sake, Sherlock...I need men down here, now! We've got a man wounded!"

John rested his head again and sighed. Sherlock put his arm around him and closed his eyes. He watched as two men lifted John away and put him in an ambulance. Lestrade put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"You know, I hate being a bit...well, perhaps it best not to say anything. Your brother has been-"

"I'd rather not hear another word. I must hurry," Sherlock said, hurrying away.

Lestrade blinked. "Wha-? Sherlock, I have questions. Moriarty is dead and-"

"He is not dead. I merely shocked him. Check his pulse if you don't believe me, and give him one those bloody "shock blankets"."

A/N: Thoughts? More to come...