Sherlock's hand rose. His fingertips reached to touch John.

I love you.

John had turned to look at him. Those beautiful eyes watching him like never before. Full of love.

Bang

The shot rang through the streets, breaking the beautiful silence around them.

Sherlock froze.

John jerked forward. One step. His hand was reaching Sherlock's.

Something red on his chest.

Then John was falling, falling, falling through the eternity.

John, hitting to the ground.

Sherlock blinked.

Red.

Too much red.

Blood.

"NO!"

People screamed. Someone grabbed him and started to drag him away.

Away from John.

"NO! JOHN!"

"I'm not going to lose you too. Not anymore. Lestrade, help me. I have to get you two out of here."

"John, John!" Sherlock screamed and for a moment he was free and he ran.

Someone tackled him.

"Let me go! Let me go! John!"

But John didn't move. His eyes were closed. There was pool of blood under him.

"Through the heart." Sherlock whispered when his hands were cuffed and Lestrade dragged him away. He was tossed on the waiting car.

"No, no, this isn't happening. This isn't real." Sherlock murmured rocking his body back and fort when the car drove away.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, easy, look at me, Sherlock, look at me." Lestrade begged but Sherlock couldn't reply. All what he could see was John. "This is not happening. Not John. I promised, I promised, I promised to protect him. I promised."

"I'm so sorry. I…" Lestrade pulled the younger man on his lap, shooting him gently. He didn't know what to do, what to say. He was equally shocked by the events. Only Mycroft's calmness had driven him to act. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft sat there, like lonely island, not looking them, his eyes hard and cold. The phone ringed and he answered. His voice so full of rage that Lestrade couldn't believe that someone would be so angry. And for God's sake, this was Mycroft.

"Yes. Very well. You sure? I tell him. Good. I take that you will handle this. Yes. What ever its takes." Mycroft shut the call angrily. "That was Anthea. She'll take care of the situation."

"You said, you said you were going to keep us safe. Keep John safe." Sherlock said quietly but surprisingly not accusingly. Mycroft looked him, calmed himself again. Or tried.

"I know. I'm sorry Sherlock. I failed again. We hunt down the man who did this. I hunt down the man who took him from us." There was bitter in his voice.

"He's dead. For sure now. He's not coming back this time. There's no hope anymore." Sherlock voice chanced from sad to resignation, still he was leaning against Lestrade who hold him, not knowing what else to do.

"No, he isn't." Mycroft sighed and they fall in silence. Sherlock retreat from Lestrade and leaned forward, watching his brother.

"No." Mycroft said before anyone said anything. But he knew his brother.

"I want that."

"No."

"I'll work for you Mycroft. Just give me the Carte Blanche."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade started but then he saw the man's face. They couldn't stop him anymore. Mycroft saw that too, and he weighed their options.

"Very well. You got your Carte Blanche." Mycroft said coolly.

"I hunt him down." Sherlock hissed through his teeth.

"I know. And make him pay."

"With pleasure."

#

"It wasn't any of us. But we know that there is bounty from his head. Been a long time actually. He had made some enemies during these years. And someone took it. That's how it is." The woman sighed watching his boss and lover cursing long and earnestly. "Sherlock will think that it was me." Moran hissed. He was beyond anger now. His whole plan was coming down with huge rumble. He didn't like it. Not liked a bit. "And now he's more guarded than before. Oh, I really want to see that man who was able to go through the Iceman's security. I have to admit, that was brilliant."

"Do we hire him?" The woman asked and Moran grinned. "No, we kill him."

"Of course. And Sherlock?"

"We have to strike before we are late again."

"No time to mourn?"

"Do you think that Sherlock would mourn after anyone? No, he comes after me, for revenge. Like before. And now, we wait him."

#

"Was this right thing to do?" Lestrade asked, in his hand third glass of whisk and he think that he would still need more. Mycroft was just handed the Carte Blanche to Sherlock who was hurried away.

"What else? He would go even if he hadn't that."

"You think he find that Moran? He didn't found him before why we came up this plan."

"Before he was tired. Three years Lestrade. Hunting down Moriarty's men. He had never done anything like that. But now, there is new motive. When he first wanted to just protect you all, now he wants his revenge. I'm sure you hear him before the shot. What he said to John. He will hunt Moran down."

"And kill him?" Lestrade didn't like the idea. Sherlock killing anyone, although he never doubt that he couldn't do that. And Moran absolutely deserved it.

"Maybe. Hard to say. To this day he has killed only as his self-defence."

Now Lestrade was surprised. "You mean that he did not go after Moriarty only to kill them?"

Mycroft looked at him with a little amused. "Sherlock? Far from it. He is a lot twisted than that. Let's just say that he brought out them, usually. If someone could kill, it was John. He never hesitated. Never, if he knew what was going on. But…" Mycroft sighed. He poured more brandy in his class. "I hope that he not drive himself too far."

And Lestrade was suddenly realicing that maybe he may never see Sherlock again. Sherlock loved John. He would do anything to revenge his lover's death. Anything, not caring if something would happen to himself. Mycroft was frozen, the glass on his lips.

"No. I think that I'm missing something. Something very important what had been right under my nose." He murmured, looking the glass, and the brandy, and out of the window, how the sun was already settling. And it hit him. "Oh. Oh."

Lestrade watched him suddenly grinning like a madman.

"What?"

Mycroft emptied his class. "Oh, you'll see. Come, we have some work to do."