A/N: Sooooooooo… It's update time! There'll be some fair warnings before we actually get going. But first…!

THANK YOU, so very, very, VERY much for your AMAZING reviews, listings and support! You guys have actually been sticking around through this entire LOOOOOOONG ride and I can't thank you enough for it. You're all fantastic! (hugs)

Okay, so, the promised warnings… After the previous chapter I typed that this one's going to hurt and it will. The character death warning was there from the beginning for a reason. So… Tissues?

Still in for the ride? Awkay. Let's go.

The Case of Two

Someone might've been baffled by the crowd gathered to the hospital's waiting room. The whole BAU-team, Emily included, had been there for ages. At some point they were joined by Sherlock and Mycroft's adoptive parents. None of them minded too much at the moment. In such a time they found comfort from one another, even though barely a word was spoken.

After all this they were basically one big family, weren't they?

The hours dragged on painfully slowly. They all fought as hard as they could. But the lack of sleep and overwhelming stress were taking their toll on them. One by one they began to nod off until only Aaron was left. He sat perfectly still with a barely holding, irony mask for an expression on his face. It had to be almost four in the morning until a doctor finally entered the room. Spencer's doctor.

Just one look at the woman's face was enough to strike nearly all breath out of Aaron's lungs. He sat still and stiff as a statue for a few seconds until he finally managed to usher himself into motion. After making sure that the others were still asleep he pushed himself up and began to drag his impossibly heavy legs towards the doctor. "Well?" was what he eventually barked out because it was all he had breath for.

The doctor, Jones M according to her name tag, gulped hard. "I'm sorry, but… What I'm about to tell will be hard to hear." She took a deep breath. It was unclear which one of them she was giving the time for. "A massive amount of damage was done to Spencer's brain. There was a great deal of bleeding that we somehow managed to get mostly under control."

The one, simple word in between froze Aaron's whole world. Seized his breath. "Mostly?"

The doctor nodded slowly, obviously wondering how much he was ready to hear. The sorrow never left her eyes. "Some of the bleeding… It's in places that we just can't get a hold of. The damage was too extensive." Her hand twitched towards his until she thought better of it. "I… I'm so sorry. But… Right now all we can do is make him comfortable." Until the end wasn't voiced but entirely too clearly present.

Aaron's lungs barely functioned. And his eyes… The searing sensation that filled them was maddening. It took what felt like ages before he managed to speak. "Can we…?" He tried to clear his throat but the blockage didn't go anywhere. "Do you think that we could…?" He wasn't able to produce the words 'say goodbye'. Refused to.

The doctor sighed. "We can try to bring him out of anesthesia. But I'm afraid that I can't promise you how lucid he'll be. Or if he'll wake up at all." This time she did squeeze his shoulder, futilely trying to offer him comfort. "Agent Hotchner, I'm so sorry." She nodded towards the still sleeping team. "Do you want me to…?"

Aaron shook his head quickly. "No. I'll tell them myself." He barely recognized his own voice. It felt like someone had laid a ton's weight on his shoulders. He was the team leader, wasn't he? It was his responsibility to make sure that they were safe and it was also his responsibility to let them know that he'd failed their youngest. Even if he had no idea how he'd manage to do it.

Elsewhere in the hospital Aaliyah felt exhausted, frustrated and incredibly sad as she made her way towards the building's exit. Despite all her attempts she failed Spencer. And now, with the Moriarty twins gone, she had absolutely no idea where to go although she was free for the first time in ages. With everything that'd been lost and sacrificed the freedom tasted bitter in her mouth.

Quite close to the exit her eyes met a familiar figure. Anthea was talking to a phone, a tense look on her face. The second the woman noticed her she finished the call and walked towards her. "So… You're leaving?"

Aaliyah shrugged, feeling too much at once for any of it to show. "I… don't really have any reason to stay", she admitted. "You?"

Anthea sighed heavily. She seemed at least a decade older than her years. "I'm one of the reasons this war began." To her experienced ears the guilt, remorse and pain were clearly audible. "The least I can do is to stay and make sure that it's really over."

"So I guess this is goodbye." Aaliyah ran a hand through her hair, her muscles nearly cramping from all the tension. "Don't worry, Mycroft taught me well how to keep secrets. Violet Moriarty."

Violet Moriarty. A woman who was supposed to be dead. James Moriarty's soul pressure point. Reincarnated as Anthea.

She was already walking away when Anthea called out. "Your son… Don't you want to know…?"

"No." It was cold and firm. Anything but Aaliyah's heart. "Just… Just keep him away from me. It's the best thing that could ever happen to him." It wasn't until she made it outside she burst into tears.

A distant voice in the back of Spencer's head tried to signal that something was wrong when he drifted out of the gray hue, feeling impossibly heavy and tired. For a moment he nearly slipped away once more until he heard voices whispering somewhere a million miles away.

"… sure that he isn't in pain?" Was that Penelope? Why did she sound like she'd been crying?

"Yes." He'd definitely never head that sad voice before. "We've given him enough pain medication to make him feel comfortable. It'll make him drowsy, too, though."

Spencer didn't have the slightest clue what they were talking about. He tried to sit up, wanted to let them know that he was very much awake. All he managed was a tiny twitch.

But it was enough. Someone moved at his right. "Reid?" Derek's voice didn't sound right. "Kid, are you awake?"

Several sets of footsteps moved. Spencer could feel people crowding around him. It was enough to make his eyes open at least a little bit.

The last thing he remembered was Jim taking him. Being in total darkness, terrified and alone. So how could his team be here? Was this all a dream?

It took some time before the infuriating blur left his line of vision. The sight that eventually met him made him smile. "… u came …" He could barely talk and it should've scared him. As it was the relief was too overwhelming. His team, his family, came to take him back home. They didn't abandon him into the dark.

Was David crying? No, couldn't be. "Yeah, kid. We came."

Spencer sighed. The fatigue from before seemed to be escalating. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep his eyes open. "… home?" He'd just sleep first. After that he'd make sure that Sherlock and Mycroft were alright. Then… Then he'd go back home. The nightmare was finally over.

"Yeah, of course." JJ took his hand, oh so gently, and rubbed soothing circles although her fingers were trembling. "Shh… Just sleep, Spence. It's okay. We're all here, watching over you."

Spencer had never felt as safe in his life and wished that he'd found the words to tell them as much. He wasn't scared or in pain, if that was what they worried about. Just horribly tired.

Still… He felt that it was vitally important to ask… "'lock? 'oft?"

"Everything's going to be alright." He had no idea if Alex had understood him. But somehow her words eased whatever worries had been rising. "Just relax. It's okay."

Spencer let his gaze linger on the group gathered around his bed. His whole team was there, even Emily. Some of them were crying. He couldn't understand why. They were all alright and he'd be, too. He just needed some more sleep.

Spencer blinked sluggishly. He barely managed to get his eyes even a little bit open. "… rry 'm so 'ired." He smiled, taking in the sight of them, then finally allowed his eyes to close. "..'e you 'oon." Those words were barely audible even to himself. He hoped that they caught them, anyway.

"See you soon", Aaron echoed in a whisper. In a different frame of mind it might've confused Spencer. Why was everyone whispering?

It didn't matter. He felt safe and comfortable. It wasn't dark and lonely anymore. It felt nice, to fall asleep to that comfort.

While drifting away Spencer could've sworn that he smelled his mother's perfume.

Gregory Lestrade didn't have any idea how long he'd been sleeping. Or unconsicous. Comatose. Dead to the world. Whatever he was. When his eyes finally agreed to open halfway all he saw was white.

What the…?

Before he began to panic he heard movement. "Hey. Are you awake?" Now that was a voice he knew.

Slowly, with a great deal of effort, Greg moved his head. Sitting beside his hospital bed on a visibly uncomfortable chair was Sally Donovan. Just one glance at her face was enough to convince his sluggish brain that something was horribly wrong. He frowned, desperately trying to catch up. "'s 'in on?" Pathetic, really. But it'd have to do.

Sally swallowed loudly. Her whole frame stiffened. "What…?" She cleared her throat. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Greg thought as hard as he possibly could with the fast rising headache. Somewhere nearby an infuriating beeping sound intensified. "I… talked 'o Mycroft." His eyebrows furrowed and a small part of him noticed that he was trembling. Oh yes, he remembered a surge of hellish agony. Then… Well, everything had been pretty dark since. "… shot? …"

Sally nodded. It was impossible to tell how she was feeling. "One of Moriarty's snipers shot you", she confirmed. "You… were injured pretty badly but the doctors are fairly sure that you'll be alright."

Greg felt like pointing out that if the sniper would've wanted him dead he'd very well be dead. But something in Sally's eyes caught his full attention. Sorrow. The beeping increased still, along with the furious, nearly panicked hammering of his heart. "What's wrong?" Commanding, almost loud. The miracles of adrenaline…

Sally's mouth opened twice. Then, apparently, she made up her mind. "Molly Hooper and Mrs. Hudson… They're gone." She barely gave him the time to swallow those news before she went on, as though afraid that she'd change her mind if she wasted time. She actually had to wipe her eyes. "And… Just before you began to wake up I heard that there's been another death."

Thomas Holmes remembered better than well the day his sons were first brought before him. Emotionally scarred despite their young age and terrified. Yet there was a fire in both their eyes that gave him a promise that these two would fight through anything. If only he'd known just how much there'd be to overcome…

He had to watch Sherlock nearly die of drugs, several times over.

He was forced to watch Mycroft starving himself to death, also several times over.

And what about all those other close calls? His boys always lived on the edge, always sought after the high of adrenaline, and such a lifestyle didn't come without a cost. He couldn't count through how many nights he'd held his crying wife and futilely tried to hold back his own tears, wondering if this was finally the time when one of their babies wouldn't come back to them.

With how very close to losing them both he'd come oh so many times, was it any wonder that he played the part of a grieving parent as well as he did after Sherlock's fall?

Those little over two years were nothing short of torture to him, even if he knew that Sherlock was alive. Yet this… The past eleven days, sixteen hours and twenty-eight minutes were the closest thing to hell he'd ever been in.

Mycroft's doctor was painfully honest with them from day one. With a grim, apologetic expression she explained the full extend of their older son's injuries and gently prepared them to expect the worst. To all their stun the stubborn man had actually escaped from them once before crashing entirely. By the time they found him from the hospital's rooftop Mycroft was suffering from a massive internal bleeding.

At that point, hearing the location and finding it clashing with everything it symbolized to their family, Thomas excused himself and left the room.

Since then he'd waited with his heart stuck in his throat how Mycroft struggled through three separate operations. They lost him more or less briefly six times. Thomas could've sworn that he felt each and every single one of them. Since then it was a waiting game to see whether Mycroft's body would be strong enough to cope with all the damage done. Thomas didn't care about the ventilator, tubes and machines. As much as they allowed him to he sat right beside his son, holding the man's hand and talking about anything that came to mind. He didn't care if they said that Mycroft's hearing was permanently damaged. He'd be damned if he didn't try to let his son know that the man wasn't alone in this fight.

When Thomas was finally allowed back into the room after Mycroft's sixth cardiac arrest he grabbed his boy's hand as hard as he possibly could. Through unshed tears he could, for a fleeting moment, see the little boy he first met once upon a time. "If not for me and Hannah… Then for Sherlock." He gasped, barely managing a proper breath. It took a mighty moment before he managed to continue. "Spencer, Diana… Not yet, please."

Late into the following evening they finally dared to take Mycroft off the ventilator. The tears Thomas shed in the hospital's hallway were bittersweet. His eyes were still red and puffy when hours later he met his wife at the hospital's chapel. Together and with shaking hands they lit two candles to honor the late members of the Reid family and prayed that those two would help lead the remaining brothers back home.

Day twelve was dawning and Thomas had, despite his best efforts, slipped into light sleep. A small, jerking motion snapped him abruptly back to awareness. He blinked, frantically trying to clear his mind, and turned his head. What he discovered made warmth flutter in the pit of his stomach.

Mycroft's eyes were only half open and hazy. But they were finally open nonetheless and full of recognition as they stared at him. Recognition and demand.

And all of a sudden Thomas felt cold once more because he knew exactly what Mycroft was silently asking. Not about his own injuries, although his son must've noticed the lack of hearing already. But about his brothers.

Thomas' fingers curled just a little tighter around Mycroft's although he knew that his son usually wasn't a fan of physical contact. Surely this was a special occasion? "I… I'm so sorry", he whispered. He kept the words clear although he knew how skilled the younger man was at reading lips. This was something that he never wanted to repeat. "Spencer… He's gone."

Thomas didn't know how much medication had to do with the loss of control. And all the trauma brought on his body must've done damage to Mycroft's mind as well. But it was the first time he ever saw his older son cry.

Sherlock had never liked waking up very much. Especially when he was sick or injured. Especially when he'd just had horrible nightmares. He joined the waken world with a small, rather pathetic whimper, immediately ready to slip right back under.

Until he heard a very familiar voice. Even if it sounded hoarse and weak. "Hey. Welcome back, sleepy head."

Sherlock sighed. Or was it a yawn? He wished that he would've had the energy to force his eyelids open. "… ohn?"

"Yeah. It's me." There was a bizarre breath of air. Or maybe it was just his imagination. "Now listen to me, you stubborn git. You've been asleep for so long that it's getting ridiculous. Open your eyes. I'm right here."

The sound of the room's door opening caught Sherlock off guard and made his eyes fly open instantly. It took a lot of willpower to hold back a wince when he breathed too sharply before turning his head. His adoptive mother's eyes widened when she walked in to see him awake. "Sherlock?" Without any further warning she was rushing towards him. It seemed to take a lot of self control of her not to fold him into a crushing hug. Instead she ruffled his hair with one hand, like she did when he was a child. Her eyes appeared moist and it made him feel uncomfortable. Her quivering smile didn't ease the feeling at all. "Oh, sweetie… I'm so glad that you're finally awake."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed while he took in her expression. Something was horribly wrong, he could feel it in his aching bones. Why couldn't he figure out what it was? His brain felt infuriatingly foggy. He blamed it on too much sleep.

When he attempted to sit up a new voice interrupted his efforts. "I wouldn't do that. You were banged up pretty good. Just take it easy, mate."

Sherlock glanced to the side. Sure, Greg was sitting in a wheelchair and appeared ready to fall asleep any given moment. But the DI was awake and alive. The realization made Sherlock feel far more than he would've been acutely ready for.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're as bad as John", he growled. "Stop fussing or I'll have you both kicked out."

The looks on his adoptive mother and Greg's faces morphed into something that really, honestly scared him. They exchanged a long look before she spoke in a badly trembling voice. "I… I forgot, that you might not remember…"

Sherlock swallowed hard. He didn't like the taste rising into his mouth. "Remember what?" he spat out, fear and something beyond sharpening his tongue. What the hell was going on?

His mother wiped her eyes. He could tell that she tried to maintain a brave front but she didn't quite manage it. "John's gone."

Sherlock had never, ever felt the kind of cold that filled him with those words. It was almost enough to still his heart. "John's right here!" he roared. Furious, terrified and desperate all at once. "I just talked to him!"

His mother paled. Her eyes welled up before she blinked it away. "He… He did say that you talk to him, even when he isn't there."

A couple of tears traveled down Greg's cheeks while the man wheeled closer. The DI's face was a mask of such grief that made any attempts of asking questions futile. Whatever was about to come would hurt both of them immensely. "Sherlock… John never made it out of the ruins. He died just as the rescue crew got there."

TBC, for an epilogue.

A/N: Uh… I'm sorry?

That SO wasn't the easiest chapter I've ever typed. The poor gang! How in the world are they going to overcome this, Sherlock especially?

As for the epilogue… Something like this demands a longer than average aftermath. Which means that the epilogue will be divided to three parts. (A befitting number, if you ask me, even if one of the three is… Well.) We'll see quite a bit of pain, comfort and some fumbling, tentative steps towards a new, different tomorrow. And sadly John and Reid really are gone. (sniffles)

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? Rants? I'll just try to prepare myself for ANYTHING…

Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see ya all then.

Take care!

tlc: Well of course I do! (smirks sheepishly) Awww, I'm glad to hear that I don't have to fear for my life! We'll see how long that lasts…

Let's see if any of the poor things will get a happy ending!

Colossal thank yous for the review!