Sherlock wandered aimlessly through the streets of London. He didn't know what to do. He had no-one to turn to, he'd never needed anyone. Anyone except John.
"Yes," Sherlock mumbled to himself, "I need him," and he ran towards Baker Street.

John stared out the window of the flat, trying to digest what had happened today. Deep inside him he knew Sherlock wasn't capable of this, but the video proved otherwise. Explanation...There's got to be an explanation... John's train of thought flicked to the answer he should have known all along.
"Moriarty," he whispered.
"You called?" Moriarty's voice made John jump as he whipped the gun out of his pants and pointed it at the half-blind man.
"Get the fuck out of my flat," John growled at him. Moriarty smiled and sat on John's chair.
"Oooh, you've developed quite a filthy mouth! Do you kiss Sherlock with that mouth?" He chuckled.
"That's none of your business. You're going to leave in one of two ways, the way you came in or inside a body bag."
"Don't you want to know how I made him do it?"
"Hypnotism, wasn't it?"
"Very good, Johnny."
"You used hypnotism to make Sherlock kill Harry and Lestrade."
"Yes. I, Jim Moriarty, Manipulated Sherlock Holmes to do my dirty work! Brilliant isn't it?"
"No, but this is," John pulled the trigger on his gun.

Sherlock heard the gunshot from the street and stopped. He stared at the blood stained window with a body lying limply against it. He took a few steps backwards before turning and running. Tears streamed down his face as the thought of John, his John, lying dead inside the flat flashed through his mind. He ran to the giant building that was in front of him and began scaling the wall.

John rang Sgt. Donovan to tell her that Moriarty was dead in his flat and he had evidence that Moriarty was the one that killed Lestrade and Harry. She came immediately and said she'd put down his death as 'killed in self-defense'. John shook at the thought that he had killed a man and distracted himself by watching the television. The news was on, and for the second time in his life, he nearly fell out of his chair watching it.
"A man was seen scaling the walls of Big Ben a few minutes ago. He is now standing at the top and officials are worried that he may jump. Citizens are being held back as..."
John sprinted from the flat.

"Why does there have to be so many people?" Sherlock mumbled to himself, "why can't I go to my John in peace? I'll wait for them to leave, then I'll go," He sat down on the ledge and looked down at the crowd. There were many frightened faces and one guy who cupped his mouth and shouted:
"You gonna jump yet?"
"Piss off!" Sherlock yelled back. The man screwed his face up and walked away from the tower. It's nice up here, Sherlock thought, maybe one day I could bring Jo-, his face fell.
"Even if John were alive, he hated me, he wanted me dead. Maybe I shouldn't wait for the crowd to disappear, maybe I should..." He trailed off as he stood up and peered back over the ledge. He closed his eyes and heard hundreds of people gasping at him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sherlock's eyes opened at the sound of that familiar voice.
"John...?"
"Sherlock," he continued, "look at me," Sherlock looked down at the source of the voice and smiled as he saw John yelling at him through a megaphone, "get your arse down here right now, mister!" Sherlock giggled lightly as John reminded him of a scolding parent. He started to crawl back down the wall and when he was a couple of meters from the bottom, he slipped. John darted forward and caught the surprised Sherlock in his arms.
"John..."
"Sherlock, what the hell were you doing?"
"What you told me to. I'd do anything if you asked me, even if you hate me," Sherlock looked away from John, who was still holding the detective in his arms in the way Sherlock did when John was stabbed.
"I don't hate you, you idiot," Sherlock winced at John's words.
"You loathe me."
"I love you," John kissed Sherlock on the cheek and Sherlock faced him once more.
"I love you too, John," he craned his neck up and kissed John on his mouth. A massive cheer came from the surrounding crowd and after a few minutes they all left. The police and paramedics made sure Sherlock was alright before leaving the couple to go home to Baker Street.

"John?" Sherlock said as they sat in the living room and watched the television.
"Yes?"
"Who did I see in the window?"
"Moriarty. I killed him and put him against the window so I didn't stain the carpet."
"You killed him? Why?"
"Because he killed Harry. I gave Sgt. Donovan the tape that proves it. I recorded him confessing in the flat. I don't know why he came, however."
"He was going to burn you."
"What?"
"Like Lestrade and Harry, he was going to burn you."
"Why?"
"Because you are my heart," Sherlock leaned over and kissed him, "and I thought my heart died, that's why the rest of me wanted to die too."
"You're an idiot, Sherlock Holmes."
"So are you, John Watson," They held each other and kissed, forgetting about the television, the world, everything except for each other.

Better? I certainly feel that way. I'm planning one more chapter foa all of you. It may seem that Moriarty's death was a bit rushed but I really, really wanted to kill him and I didn't want it to draw out any further than his survival has :3

So one more chapter and then it's full steam ahead to a new story I'm working on. This is my longest story so far and I would like to thank everyone who added it to their alerts, favourite stories and reviewed it, it seriously does mean so very much to me.

See you in the finale
SH