-Here is loves! The final installment of this story! There is a short note uploaded as a chapter (in order to prevent spoilers!) so please read it. Thank you so much for your readership! I hope you have enjoyed the ride!-

John grunted as he slowly woke again, judging by the physical sensations he was suffering he had been out for just under half an hour. The markers for the poison were clear. Right now his blood felt like fire in his veins. He could feel his pulse almost as if it was a drum pounding in his body. That was stage one of the poisoning. Stage two would be much worse. Kitty was arguing with a guard not far from him and when she noticed he was awake she smirked and came back to him. She straddled him and leaned her arms on his chest so her face was merely inches from his.

"So tell me Johnny Boy why hasn't your Master shown up yet?" She laughed when John just glared refusing to answer her. "Oh be boring then. I'll just tell you. It's because he is still in the hospital." She said joyously. "Maybe he died! Wouldn't that be ever so disappointing for you? That would mean you would die all alone. Too bad," She got up and walked a bit away to a table, fiddling with something on it.

"Do you honestly think Moriarty cared about you?" John's voice was normal, it irked her. They weren't here to chat.

"I was his closest confidant. He told me everything." John snorted with laughter.

"Right, I'm sure he did." John smirked.

"He did!" She insisted.

"So that's why you went to Sherlock for a story?" She whipped around. "Or why he went to her for help before he went to you?" She growled. "Oh you didn't know that he asked her for help? I mean he probably could have cracked the code himself but she wouldn't give it to him. So he sent Sherlock to her." John smirked. "No, you obviously are just a foolish girl. He used you and left you behind. This isn't about him though is it? You have some sort of issue..." She cut him off as she turned around.

"You ruined everything!" She shouted and walked over to him, she was now brandishing a scalpel. She cut his shirt away. "He was so happy. His plan was perfect! He was going to kill Sherlock and then he wouldn't have had to worry about him. He designed that scheme with the pill and it was PERFECT!" She screamed. "And Sherlock would have taken that pill if you hadn't shown up..." She growled and sliced down the center of his chest drawing blood. John didn't flinch, but the blood ran. "But as if that wasn't bad enough you even had to write about it. You stole my story!" Another slice this time on an angle, he still didn't react. Suddenly it all made sense. She didn't care about Moriarty's plan, no she cared that his blog robbed the paparazzi from their scoop, specifically her. "And then you ruined everything again when he was having so much fun watching Sherlock dance. But no, you had to show that idiot Sherlock he has a heart. Suddenly he actually cared about people. Suddenly he was human, he was bewildered by a case, confused by Moriarty's game, watching people suffer and visibly upset by it." She was screaming at the top of her lungs as she brought the scalpel across in the opposite direction, an x cut across his chest. She straddled him again, pressing the blade against his neck. "He was so hurt, so disappointed and all because you ruined Sherlock. You broke him." She grinned as she touched his battle scars before driving the blade into his skin just below his left clavicle and dragging it to create a K. "Look at all his sweet little marks." She smirked touching the love bites around his neck. "But you're my pet now, well until you die that is." She growled tracing an R right next to the K, carving her initials into his chest. John grit his teeth, but that was all the reaction he gave her. "And then she just had to show up. And she made it all so much worse..." Kitty was just rambling now. She continued tracing the letters for about five minutes before getting up. She kept pacing away and then pacing back, whenever she got close to him she would slash him again with the scalpel; sometimes lightly, other times deeply but each time with malice and hatred. Time seemed to pass slowly, Kitty wandering back over to retrace the initials or cut him someplace new before wandering back out to pace and spew her insanity. There was no clock, but John could tell the moment the two hour mark hit as could feel the next stage of the poisoning rocketing through his body. His muscles felt like they were on fire. He didn't let it show on his face, channeling his military training to keep himself strong. Sherlock would show he just had to wait.

"Wait, what's this?" Kitty asked grabbing John's hand. She laughed. "Oh isn't that precious. He gave you a ring? No," She gasped incredulously. "What are you two going to be consulting husbands now?!" She giggled and ripped the ring off John's finger, finally garnering a response for him. He struggled trying to get it back. "Oh look, he does care." She growled and punched him in the right side of his face, reopening the wound from earlier. "It's mine now." She slipped it on her thumb, ignoring the blood. "Only ten hours left Johnny boy, then it's your curtain call."

Sherlock directed the driver where to go but his mind was racing; it was racing faster than it normally did when he was chasing criminals. Trying to process the insane amount of data he was trying to sort through while ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. He was worried; the guilt nagging at his stomach was too much for him to allow himself to relax. He'd lost two hours; which meant John had suffered for two hours. He would already be in the next stage of the poison's course and it would be immensely painful. This was a failure on his part and he wanted to make sure it didn't continue on longer than necessary. When the car pulled up to the alleyway about a block from the warehouse, Sherlock jumped out before it came to a complete stop; Lestrade was waiting for him, his team in dark clothing and concealing their weapons just as Sherlock caught up to them. Sherlock moved quickly around, surveying the situation and gathering data – but the way he moved was disjointed and distracted a far cry from his normal behavior. He turned to Lestrade, who was concerned by the look on his face. He'd never dealt with an emotional Sherlock and it was rather frightening.

"Alright, you and Donovan with me, we'll go in first and alone. Kitty is going to be waiting for me. She won't expect me to bring you – so that's our advantage. We've already lost two hours and I don't want to waste more. He's not well, it is going to be difficult to see but I need you two on your top game. Whatever happens, do not act until I give the signal." Sherlock's voice was low and deadly, which made both of the officers uncomfortable.

"He should be the one giving the orders," Donovan said softly, pointing to Lestrade. She was concerned about the state of Sherlock's mind, more so than usual.

"Not on this. The warning will be a gun shot. I am not sure how the gun shot will happen but it will. When it rings out they can rush the building but not until. If we do not do this carefully…" Sherlock's voice dropped off and Lestrade nodded. Lestrade gently put his hand on Sherlock's arm, a move he normally would not have done. It lingered only a moment before Sherlock turned to him with a strange, pained look on his face. He apparently could not tolerate the sentiment right now.

"As near as we can tell it's just six people in there. The thermals hard to read…" Lestrade offered, trying to give him more data. Sherlock growled.

"Stop talking and follow along." Sherlock's voice was tense and his arm shook just slightly. Lestrade just nodded and let it go; this was new ground for all of them. Sherlock was affected. Donovan glanced to Lestrade but he simply shook his head.

Sherlock led the way swiftly through the two streets that separated them from the actual warehouse without a single word. The smell of molten metal burned in their noses and covered over any other scent as they moved around the edge of the building to find a way in. Sherlock motioned to a door ahead and pulled a lock pick kit from one of his pockets; the door was an easy lock to get passed and within moments the three of them were swallowed by the darkness within the warehouse. There were yellowish flood lights dotting the hallway bathing them in a strangely ghastly light. Directly in front of them was a wiry metal staircase. Sherlock motioned for them to be quiet and they ascended the stairs. The metal frame wrapped around the top of the building creating a sort of wide loft in the warehouse, a few feet passed the top of the stairs they were able to see into the wide open warehouse below them. The scene down in the warehouse was like a bad horror movie: a bright white spotlight shone down from the second floor down onto the center of the room below, and centered within the patch of light was John, still tied to the chair and clearly not doing well. Their vantage point was too far for Sherlock to make out much from his position, but he was able to gain a little information: John's eyes were open, his was tilted head back, and Kitty was straddled on his lap with her attention focused on her hands. He couldn't clearly see what she was doing but they could hear the soft din of her talking and the random insane giggles she let forth. About ten feet ahead of them a guard stepped back from the railing, shifting in his boredom. His attention was fixed on the warehouse below, clearly expecting a frontal assault by Sherlock. Sherlock motioned to Lestrade and Donovan to wait where they were and he moved fluidly and silently behind the guard. With a few short martial arts moves he disabled the guard, catching the man's body as it crumpled and lowering him to the floor. Donovan looked at Lestrade with wide eyes, her pistol shaking slightly in her hands but all he could offer was a shrug. He knew Sherlock was dangerous, now he had proof. They continued on ahead and watched as Sherlock repeated the pattern four times and disabled all the guards. There was no staircase down on the left side of the warehouse so Sherlock motioned for Donovan to remain there and Lestrade to return back towards the way they had come in. Meanwhile he himself descended the staircase directly behind the spotlight. He moved silently into the shadows to the right of John and Kitty, taking in the scene before him.

From his position he could now see what Kitty was doing and it made rage sweep through his body in a way he'd never expected to feel. She had the scalpel in her hand and was making noises like a little girl drawing a picture as she continued carve her initials into John's chest, though the pattern was now completely obscured by blood. Sherlock watched and easily registered the pattern of the letters and he could tell from the amount of blood this was not the first time she had done this.

"Come on now, you can scream." She said coaxingly. "I know it hurts." Kitty laughed continuing on in her work while the dark laugh turning into a full on giggle. She grabbed John's hair with a bloody hand and forced him to meet her eyes. Her body language and look clearly demanding a response from her, but he gave her nothing, keeping his eyes focused on something beyond her. She growled and went back to carving but John felt relief spread through his body, he could feel Sherlock's gaze burning. He didn't show any sign of Sherlock's presence and Kitty for her part was too absorbed in dragging the blade down over the meatier part of John's right forearm, slicing it open.

Sherlock felt his adoration for and his pride in John swell as he watched the scene before him completely transfixed. Sherlock marveled at how he didn't cry out despite the fact he had to be in immense pain. There was no way he couldn't be. She'd carved him up like a turkey and the poison was likely raging through his system now. Sherlock catalogued John's injuries quickly: dried blood over his thighs, down his leg, down his left arm; fresh blood over his cheek, his chest, his right arm, his shin; tremors running through his body as he fought the poison and blood loss, struggling to remain conscious. She pressed the knife down harder and John's body twitched involuntarily but he didn't make a sound. Sherlock went to move just as Kitty spoke again.

"I bet your body feels like fire right now." She laughed but her voice had a teasing, sing-song like quality to it. "If he doesn't come to get you soon he'll miss all the good parts." She mocked being concerned but giggled again. "That'll be a shame – if he misses the moment you cease knowing yourself."

"But you know I wouldn't miss it." Sherlock replied calmly, stepping out of the shadows. He could feel the relief that John sank into but he could tell the situation was still tenuous. He had a pistol easily accessible in his coat pocket, but made no intention of drawing it just yet. He instead just waited to see what Kitty would do, sizing up the situation.

"You're late." She sang at him. "I thought you weren't going to come at all, it was going to be ever so disappointing." She giggled, standing up off of John. John didn't turn to look at Sherlock and Sherlock kept his gaze focused on Kitty. He sneered slightly as he realized John's ring was bloodied and slid over Kitty's right thumb. She twirled the scalpel and giggled again. The woman was completely deranged, her eyes wild and crazy as she approached Sherlock.

"I would never want to disappoint you." He growled. Her hair was a mess, it stood up at weird angles and looked like she'd run her hands through it several times without realizing she was dripping with John's blood. His blood stained her blouse, her skirt, and her hands. Another smear was prominent over her cheek where she had carelessly wiped sweat away. She was unstable and Sherlock felt nothing but panic at the fact he could not get between her and John.

"No, you wouldn't disappoint him, your poor sweet pet. You'd never leave him to die all alone." She was still sort of singing at Sherlock and it unnerved him slightly, the woman had clearly lost her mind. "No, you'd never. But it's too late." She flashed her teeth at him in a huge grin.

"You're wrong." His tone made her growl and she stepped towards him. It made Sherlock tense and the sight of John's blood on her was not helping his calm demeanor. "It is not too late for him, but it is for you."

"For me," She laughed. "I've won." She yelled it loudly and John actually flinched. His eyes were slightly unfazed and Sherlock knew they were wasting precious time. But her mental state worried Sherlock and he knew he needed to keep her attention off of John.

"No you haven't." He chuckled slightly. He narrowed his gaze on her, a sneer crossing his face. He quickly shifted his eyes as he analyzed her.

-Her red hair was more copper colored than the last time, her eyes tired and weak, and her entire persona unkempt – She hasn't worked in four, no five months.

-Her nails were chipped, her shirt torn in several places –Her appearance no longer matters, deep sentiment

-No gun in her shirt pocket, no pockets on her pants, no jacket despite freezing temperatures – unarmed, thinks she has the upper hand

"Oh are you deducing me?" She asked widening her eyes as if she was surprised. "Tell me poppet, what do you see?" She giggled darkly.

"Your attempt to act like your former 'Master' notwithstanding, you're failing. Miserably, I might add." Sherlock let out a huff of laughter. "Oh…" He said it softly in the tone he used when the pieces clicked together. "Oh, you stupid girl," He chided.

"Oh what," She growled, her tone changing. He could feel the danger as her mind shifted.

"Oh he was right about me always wanting everything to be clever. But you're not clever are you? No you're an idiot, an idiot who didn't even see that this web was closing in around you while you believed yourself to be in control. It's always harder to see your own fall." His tone lowered, his gaze darkened.

"The only one falling is you." She snapped, her voice betraying fear.

"Ah so you had considered it." He chuckled softly. "No we are done here. This was all a lovely game and thank you an entertaining six months but this is over." Sherlock drew the pistol. "Did he plan this out with you before he died? I can just picture it. He told you every little detail of how to do it, where to go, what building to use, which poison to administer, where to buy it, how to setup the trap to snare the trophy…" Her eyes narrowed as she looked momentarily hurt as she remembered. "Ah, so he did. I can tell by your eyes. He must have spent night after night with you going over the plans, showing you exactly how to do everything and you just ate it up like the idiot you are. Assuming that his attention equated to sentiment, just waiting to do this for him, to show him that you loved him best, that you were worth his time," John's head was swimming but even he could hear the laughter in Sherlock's voice as the detective did what he did best. In some ways it was comforting but the comfort of it was short lived as a new wave of pain shot through his body. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay awake and he could feel the next stage of the muscular effects of the poison starting to set in. Shit, they were at another marker. He had to snap Sherlock out of the game.

"E-eight," John's voice cut through the discussion and both of them turned to look at him in shock. Sherlock understood immediately what John was trying to say and the panic almost boiled over in his stomach. John's head sank down towards his chest and Sherlock could not hide the tremor that ran through his hand. He refocused his attention, if he did not get John out of here and to the hospital in the next two hours he would begin to suffer lasting damage.

"He loved me, this is his vengeance." Kitty snarled, drawing Sherlock's gaze back to herself, her voice becoming dangerous.

"This is his vengeance, but not on me. This is his vengeance on you for turning away from him, for betraying him."

"I never betrayed him!" She shouted, but looked worried.

"Oh but you did. You came to me for an interview, while he was in the same building no less. So now you're going to take a fall too. You're going to pay for proving that you are just like every other boring idiot he came in contact with – the only bonus is that he thought you might have succeeded in at least injuring John and thus injuring me. He went to his grave confident everyone left to suffer would." Sherlock moved towards John but Kitty growled and jumped between them, brandishing the knife at Sherlock.

"HE LOVED ME!" She growled like a cat, flashing the scalpel.

"No, he toyed with you. You were nothing more than a pawn, just like The Woman. He never intended to have relations with you. He was above sentiment; otherwise he wouldn't have been so upset with John's presence in my life. So he had her killed…"

"I killed her." She shouted. "I cut my name all over her little body. Just like I did your little pet, Johnny boy," She'd stepped back towards John, as if guarding him from Sherlock. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, deducting the situation to find his next move when Kitty let out a shriek. John, utilizing an amount of strength that Sherlock didn't know he'd still possessed kicked Kitty's legs out from under her, hooking one of her legs in such a way that a pistol slid out from a holster on her thigh.

Sherlock fought the smirk that toyed at the edges of his mouth as he realized what John had done. He pulled his pistol out and aimed it squarely at the woman on the ground, moving over and kicking her pistol further away.

"And so he got his vengeance on her and all that was left was you. Put your hands where I can see them." She looked up at him with wild eyes before she sprang.

She moved like a cat and tackled Sherlock at the knees, smacking his head into the ground hard. There were a few minutes of tense struggle as she tried to stab him with the scalpel. Her actions dislodged the pistol from his hand as he deflected one swipe only to be caught with the next. The scalpel lodged itself in his right bicep and he let out a shout. He went to grab her but she rolled away, flipping over as she did and coming up with his pistol firmly in her hand. She pointed it first at John but then smirking she turned it to Sherlock's chest.

"I was going to let you live. I was going to let you live so you could watch him die. So you could feel how it is to lose the one you love, but now… Now I'm just going to kill you." She giggled again, watching his blood run on his arm.

"Obvious, trite, and boring," Sherlock snapped. Her hand trembled on the pistol grip and just as she focused herself to fire she shrieked, a gunshot ringing out through the building. Kitty dropped to her knees, a bullet hole through her right leg. Donovan tackled her and pinned her hard to the ground, not even trying to be gentle as she cuffed the insane screaming woman. Sherlock however pulled himself up off the ground, shaking like mad but his full attention focused on John. John grunted softly as the pain ramped up.

"Sherlock are you alright?" Lestrade shouted as he ran towards him, putting his gun away. Sherlock nodded slightly not speaking but moving as swiftly as he could over and clumsily freeing John.

"Sher…lock…" John grunted, trying to say something.

"Hush, John. I've got you, I'm here." Sherlock said and repeated it four times before John seemed to just collapse again him. He pulled John into himself with his left arm, almost crushing John to him. "I'm here, focus on me John. Please…" He whispered feeling like he was trying to focus through a tunnel.

"MEDICS!" Lestrade shouted as he turned back to the door, officers swarming in.

Kitty screamed and hissed as she fought against the arms that held her, shouting random nonsense as she did. However she wasn't getting free, the look on Donovan's face was dark and it was perfectly clear she was going to make sure this woman went to jail. Two medics came over and taking the woman from Donovan and escorting her to a waiting ambulance. Donovan followed her, taking it on herself to be her guard. Sherlock was trying to carry all of John's weight, leveraging it on his left side. His arm was tight around John's waist as he helped him toward the doors, seemingly unaware of the blood running on his own arm and the scalpel still lodged in the wound. Lestrade tried to get Sherlock to focus as two medical workers came in and tried to take John from Sherlock to place him on a stretcher and into an ambulance. Sherlock refused to let him go, holding him so tight John grunted and his knuckles were white. John's eyes were vacant and Sherlock was clearly in shock.

"It's alright Sherlock," Lestrade whispered putting his hand on Sherlock's back to get his attention. "These are my guys." He said it with emphasis, trying to reassure Sherlock. When Sherlock made no reply he shook the detective slightly. "They're with me, yea?" He repeated, getting Sherlock to meet his eyes. Sherlock barely nodded as he let Lestrade pry John loose of his grip. He even consented to let Lestrade physically guide him toward the ambulance alongside the stretcher. "What's he need, Sherlock," Lestrade asked softly, trying to bring Sherlock back around. "What's he need for the poison? You know what it is, tell them so they can start the treatment right now." He encouraged.

"Chelation," Sherlock finally whispered, but his focus was still missing. "Chelation and mineral supplements…" Lestrade moved to say something when John shouted.

"My ring…" John grunted suddenly, almost sitting straight up again the techs working on him. The medics looked astonished and forced him back down, though he struggled against them. Sherlock's eyes snapped back to John as he spoke and he moved easily into the ambulance to sit next to him.

"It's alright John, it's alright." Sherlock tried to put his hand on John's but realized he was using his right arm. He grunted and switched to the left side not responding to anything else anyone said until John seemed to settle down.

"Sherlock, look at me." Lestrade ordered and Sherlock looked up at him, confusion on his face. "I'm going to meet you at the hospital, okay? Mycroft's already there waiting for you. Nod your head that you understand me." Sherlock nodded but his attention was completely focused on John. Lestrade closed the doors and the ambulance was quickly on its way. He was completely astonished, he'd never knew Sherlock could be so put off.

"It'll be okay John." Sherlock whispered, putting his hand on John. But his voice was still odd. They'd almost wasted too much time. There was danger that he would be permanently compromised because of this. Guilt welled up inside Sherlock's stomach and John who was both half in the world and half out of it felt the tremor that ran through the detective.

"It will…" He offered softly before finally succumbing to his injuries and collapsing.

They arrived at the hospital in short measure and John was taken to a private suite. Sherlock assumed this was done at Mycroft's direction, which was confirmed when he saw Mycroft waiting for them in the room. Sherlock followed alongside John's stretcher, clinging to his hand and completely oblivious to the world around him. The medical staff hovered around John, working as they moved him. They tried several times to get Sherlock to move, as he was obstructing them, but he absolutely refused. They drew blood to run scans, dressed his various wounds cleaning him up as best they could. Mycroft eventually stepped in and was able to pry Sherlock away from John, Sherlock allowing his brother to guide him without a word of protest. Mycroft sat him down in the suite and motioned to a nurse who came over and cut away Sherlock's shirt and jacket, exposing his arm. She pulled the scalpel out and Sherlock barely grunted. She wanted to have a doctor stitch the wound closed but she knew that getting Sherlock to leave the room would be impossible so she used medical packing to fill the wound and bandaged it tightly. Sherlock's focused returned to John, he seemed to be resting comfortably for the moment, but his wounds looked very bad. They'd closed or stitched all his wounds and cleaned off as much of the blood as they could. Mycroft stepped out of the room and discussed something with a doctor before returning and clearing his throat. Sherlock turned his attention to his brother and Mycroft was completely disarmed by the sheer emotion that his face betrayed. Silence descended heavily around them for almost a half an hour before Mycroft finally felt it prudent to speak.

"You both could have been killed by that insane woman." His voice betrayed his concern slightly, but it seemed to bring Sherlock back into the moment.

"We could have," Sherlock conceded. "She was completely deranged, I could not have anticipated that. I also realized too late that this entire charade was aimed at her as well. Not just at me and John…" His voice was distant as he tried to block the emotion he was feeling. His eyes fell on the bandage on John's chest and he growled softly. She'd marked his John with her initials. It irritated him immensely and made something very vile rise in his stomach. His thoughts quickly became dark as he plotted all of the things he could do to make her pay. Mycroft swept out of the room when a doctor motioned to him and about an hour later John slowly opened his eyes, groaning in pain.

"Sher…lock?" John asked softly, trying to lift his head. It hurt far too much to do however, so he sank back against the cushions.

"I'm here, John." Sherlock whispered, dragging his chair closer to the bed and resting his head against John's gently. John felt a tear that wasn't his own fall on his cheek.

"I'm 'lright Sherlock." He mumbled. "Well 'sides the fire in my blood." His speech was slurred and it rather hurt to talk.

"That's partially the poison and partially the antidote." He whispered back. But he also knew John was aware of that.

"Are you…" John grunted, trying to be stronger than he was.

"I'm alright…" Sherlock said dismissively. "Just a minor arm wound."

"Sherlock, come here." Mycroft called from the hallway and Sherlock growled but obliged moving to speak with a doctor. A nurse came in and fussed with John. Sherlock returned a few minutes later and then growled when a nurse came and drew blood from him.

"What are you doing?" He growled.

"We're going to test you for the poison, that scalpel was tainted." The nurse replied curtly.

"On whose orders?" He barked back at her.

"Your doctor," The nurse smirked and nodded to John. John blushed slightly and Sherlock shook his head. Even half dead John was worrying about him.

"Ah." He leaned his head down on John's again. "My sentimental doctor."

"Lestrade went to find out Kitty's status and is on his way up here. I want to know what happened Sherlock; I want you to tell me all of it." Mycroft was not asking.

"I'll tell you when he gets here, Mycroft. I would hate to repeat myself." Sherlock snapped, unhappy to be disturbed from his moment with John. He looked down and gently pushed John's hair back off his forehead, carding his fingers through those sandy locks. He saw John's gaze was focused on his left hand and he smiled reaching across to the table and fishing in the tatters of his jacket. He pulled out a small chain with a ring on it. "Don't worry John, I have your ring right here." He undid the chain and slid the ring on John's finger, watching as John sighed with relief.

"You… Oh… Right, I forgot." John whispered with confusion. He had forgotten about that part of the plan. He tried to say something else but Sherlock gently placed his finger over John's lips.

"Hush, it's alright John. If you had remembered that it was a fake she might have realized it as well. Though it proved to be an unnecessary precaution as I knew where you were from the picture."

"Guess…" John replied weakly, but smiled. Sherlock felt his heart lighten.

"I don't guess." He whispered in a firm tone, but a smile played on his lips. Relief was sweeping through his body as John eagerly and easily teased him.

"Yes…You do." John's grin was lopsided but he sighed as he lay back, utterly wrecked.

"Christ, he's okay." Lestrade's voice interrupted as he almost ran into the room. "Glad to see you're awake, John." Lestrade handed Sherlock a coffee and Sherlock smiled in appreciation.

"Eh Greg, I'm alright." John said dismissively, but let his eyes close. He was utterly exhausted.

"So Sherlock," Mycroft prompted sweeping his hand across the air in front of his abdomen.

"Kitty was completely deranged. This wasn't just vengeance for Moriarty; really I'm not even sure he was involved. I wanted him to be…" He sighed. "He may have been originally but this became about her anger. She dogged John after my death, so entirely fixated on seeing him suffer. She wrote articles for months after all of them focused on how he was apparently doing horrendous in coping with the loss of the fake genius. But eventually her editors got tired of her obsession; the people weren't buying the magazines anymore. They didn't care about poor old John Watson. Especially as they saw how loyal he was to my memory, it began to sway people away from the lies Moriarty had built. So she was fired and couldn't get new work. She refused to write about anything else so she seized on whatever memories she had left and enacted this scheme from the fragments. You see she had suffered so much because of John and I. Moriarty's attention so fixated on the ever present thorn in his side in me, John's blog taking away her stories about our various cases, the fact that I could make room in my life for John but he refused to give her anything at all. So she kidnapped John and gave him a slow acting muscle destroying poison that was a very diluted version of the same poison used by the cabbie." Sherlock's voice was tense and he sighed.

"So is this over now then?" Lestrade asked sighing.

"I believe so yes. Now we can go back to our normal insanity." Sherlock smiled, john squeezed his hand slightly.

"This entire ordeal has been madness Sherlock. I hope that it proves to you that…"

"Caring is not a disadvantage Mycroft. That's what this has proven to me. That having John at my side has saved my life in more ways than I previously imagined."

"I was going to say that having friends and allies was a worthy endeavor." Mycroft smirked slightly. "I'm going to have them bring a second bed in for you."

"Lestrade, thank you for everything," Sherlock sighed softly.

"Of course, Sherlock."

"He is a good man you know," John finally piped up and Lestrade grinned.

"So he is."

Three months later Kitty was remanded to a mental institution after being declared mentally unfit for trial. It was a small amount of closure for John who bore many new scars from her game but he was happy enough to have the entire situation behind them. He and Sherlock made their union official and as Sherlock enjoyed telling Lestrade repeatedly they were now consulting husbands, Sherlock refusing to go on any case if Anderson was doing forensics and insisting instead that John do all of the forensic work. Mycroft pressed them to take an extended honeymoon which they readily agreed to, although to his displeasure they chose his guest manor as their destination.

"Sherlock you could go anywhere, why here?" Mycroft lamented as he came into the room.

"It's far enough away to allow relaxation…" Sherlock offered, shrugging.

"But close enough that if anything interesting happens he'll be able to jump on it." John giggled. Mycroft sighed and left the room.

"You know, I never mentioned how proud of you I was." Sherlock smiled and pulled John to him.

"What?" He looked confused, but smirked.

"You disarmed her when I didn't even know she had a gun or that you had the ability to that. You're definitely not the man I imagined you to be John Watson." He leaned in to kiss him.

"John Watson-Holmes." He grinned, their lips almost touching.

"Yes, consequently how did you know about the gun?" Sherlock smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't know, I noticed." John giggled.

"You guessed." Sherlock teased, smirking.

"I don't guess."

"So the case is closed, criminal in custody, you've managed to convince me to marry you, what do you do now doctor?"

"I'm not just a doctor; I'm a consulting medical detective." John smirked as he leaned in to kiss Sherlock again. "Only one in the world."