A/N: Surprise! It's a Saturday update this time. My Sunday's going to be full-packed and I didn't have the heart to make you wait the extra day. See, I CAN be nice sometimes! (chuckles) Next week it should be back to Sunday updates.

Awkay, before getting to the actual chapter… THANK YOU, so very much, for your reviews and support! This has been a lovely typing-ride and I'm thrilled that you've all taken it with me. So thank you! We've almost reached the finish line. (HUGS)

And now, without any further stalling… Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.


The Final Verdict


/ As soon as Spencer and Sherlock heard that something had happened to Alyssa they were running, not hesitating for even a second. Their hearts thundering at almost the exact same rhythm, worry and sheer terror driving them. Neither noticed that they didn't have any shoes on while they sped through the forest. And then, all of a sudden, they froze.

Because there, by the shore, several adults were working on something or someone. Grim looks on their faces and most of them crying. Even the toughest men weren't able to conceal their tears. That's when one of them moved, allowing the children a clear visual to what was going on.

Two of the men, one of them a camp director and the other a member of the search party, were giving Alyssa CPR. Yet she lay perfectly still, her face a horrible shade of white and her lips gaining a tinge of blue.

Sherlock exploded instantly. The older boy screamed at the top of his lungs, putting up a mighty fight against the three adults attempting to drag him away. His shouts were raw and wounded.

And Spencer… Spencer just stood there. Staring with wide, tear filled eyes. Shaking so badly that it was a miracle he remained upright and fast on his way to a state of shock. He wasn't aware enough to do a thing when one adult finally found enough wits to pick him up and carry him away.

Although they were separated, Sherlock on his way home with his parents and brother, and Spencer in a hospital recovering from the shock and waiting for his father, the two boys made a similar decision. Their young minds were unable to handle what they'd just seen and the events that took place before that. So they deleted them all, buried them into the most distant corners of their minds from which the memories would hopefully never be found.

Each other, Alyssa, the Orion's Belt, the camp… It all faded away. Became wiped blank.

So when Alyssa tried to contact them, years upon years later, they didn't have the slightest clue of who she was. They didn't know until they encountered her for the last time. When that day came she was already truly dead and it was much too late to tell her all those things they would've wanted to say. /


During his time as a dead man Sherlock had countless of nightmares about losing John. His subconscious seemed to be quite creative in coming up with horror scenarios of all the ways his blogger could die. Several times it was falling down a cliff into a waterfall, just like Alyssa. Alyssa's face kept changing places with John's quite a bit, actually. Those nightmares didn't end to his return.

And now he was living one of those horror stories.

Although not quite. The doctor treating John – middle aged, bad skin problems, aggressive diabetes, cheating on his wife with another man, yet reasonably competent at his job – was quite secretive upon entering the room with suspicious looking substance that was injected to the former army doctor's blood stream. But apparently it was supposed to help. That was all the older doctor could tell. John wouldn't have been impressed with the way Sherlock handled such secrets being kept from him. The older doctor ran away with deathly pale face, only the influence of British government keeping him from calling the security at once. Did John frown in his unnaturally deep slumber at the sounds of it all?

Well, one more reason to wake up, Sherlock mused sullenly, entirely without remorse.

Sherlock had always been horrible at waiting. And in this case it was even worse. How was he supposed to just remain idle when…?!

In the end Sherlock glared at John, hard. He tried to ignore the stinging sensation that took over his eyes upon the discovery that there'd been no change. "Now, this is unacceptable", he informed the blogger sharply. "You've already slept long enough. So I'm expecting you to wake up soon, alright? Because this… This is hateful." There was so much more he would've wanted to say but for once his usually impressive vocabulary failed him entirely.

So he kept staring and staring at John, a steel hard expression on his face and never knowing of the few tears that escaped his irony hold. Stared, kept watch, waited. His hand never once losing its nearly desperate grip on John's.

He'd already lost one dear friend. Or two, because surely Redbeard counted. Even the thought of losing a third… It was unacceptable.


It took Spencer's mind a few moments to process that the hand stroking his hair was really there. Or was it? Was he just dreaming? Because he felt like he was floating, spinning around in emptiness.

"C'mon, Spencer", a familiar female voice murmured. He tried to recognize it but didn't have enough awareness for that. "Fight this, why don't you?

"… clear! …"

"Show them all what you're made of."

"… fight it, kid! …"

There was a hellish, burning wave of pain that seemed to consume his all and he would've given a lot if he'd been able to scream. It was being burned up alive, stabbed and shot at all combined. It repeated itself at least three times. And then he felt the gentle hand once more. "Shh… It's going to be okay. Just keep breathing and wake up."

Curiosity ushering him on beyond all else Spencer opened his eyes, just a little. It took his foggy, incoherent head a long time to process just what he was seeing. He frowned, trying to understand. Trying to figure out why the thing, the person, before his very eyes seemed so surreal.

His eye widened. It took a while before he dared to breathe out, his throat raspy and pained, raw. "… 'lyssa?"

Because somehow, impossibly, Alyssa Stiles was there, standing beside his hospital bed. The adult version of her, with a smile on her beautiful face. So alive that it made his head spin.

Spencer swallowed and regretted the action instantly. It hurt like hell. "Am I dying?" Because it sounded like the only reasonable explanation to why he was seeing a person who was supposed to be dead. Whose body he'd seen. Whom he'd been forced to lose twice.

Alyssa's smile had a sad undertone. "No, Spence. The opposite. You're finally waking up."

Spencer frowned. He felt lost and, if he was fully honest with himself, a little scared. "Then why…?" His voice died out there. Why are you here? Of course he was thrilled to see her. He'd missed her, a lot, even when he'd attempted to erase her from his memories. But his question was justified, wasn't it?

Alyssa grinned and shrugged. "It's your subconsiousness that conjured me up, remember? So… You tell me."

And Spencer knew. A heavy feeling that had nothing to do with his physical condition settled on his chest with such force that he feared it might crush something. "Because I… I wanted to say goodbye", he rasped. Staring into her eyes with desperate intensity because he knew, with agonizing certainty, that he'd never, ever see them again. "And… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. For forgetting. For not fighting harder."

"You two are impossible…" Alyssa shook her head, growing far more serious. "Stop talking nonsense or I'll smack you, got it? What happened… It was no one else's fault but Durbin's." She looked at him hard, clearly willing those words to burn right into his mind. "Stop feeling guilty over the fact that you survived. Stop carrying that weight on your shoulders. You and Sherlock both. You deserve so much more after surviving that hell."

Of course Spencer knew that it wasn't Alyssa, not really. But it sounded so much like her that it succeeded in bringing a hint of comfort. A faint, pale smile that held more than a bit of sadness appeared to his lips. "I'll miss you", he murmured before he realized that he thought it.

Alyssa chuckled. "You do realize that you just said that to the creation of your own mind, don't you? Quite arrogant."

Spencer's smile widened, just a little bit.

Clearly satisfied with her work Alyssa sighed. Then, after thinking about it for a second, leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead. "It's time to wake up, now", she whispered.

Everything was swaying oddly. Was he falling deeper or getting closer to waking up? It was impossible to tell.

"And Spencer, promise me one thing? You and Sherlock… Live enough for all of us three."


John woke up to a immense, merciless headache. And to the sensation that he wasn't alone. Feeling a not quite healthy touch of curiosity he fought a small war, eventually managing to crack his eyes halfway open. Despite his physical discomfort what he found brought a small smile to his lips.

Sherlock was fast asleep on a chair that'd been dragged as close to his hospital bed as humanly possible. The detective's position didn't seem comfortable but the man looked like he hadn't slept in weeks so John didn't have the heart to wake him up. Surrendering to a crushing amount of fatigue John slipped back into sleep, feeling safer than ever in his life.


For the second time Spencer woke up to his hair being stroked. He frowned and the distant, beeping sound echoing in the background changed slightly. "… sa?"

"Reid?" The screeching sound wasn't anything overly loud but enough to startle him. The hand disappeared from his hair and surprisingly he missed it. Distancing steps could be heard, followed by the room's door opening and hushed words to someone. Then the steps walked closer once more. Someone slumped to a chair before fingers curled around his. "Hey, Spencer, open your eyes, sweetie."

With far more effort than it should've required Spencer realized that the voice wasn't Alyssa's. But it was familiar. He struggled, with all his might. And finally his eyelids began to flutter.

"Good", his companion praised. The hand's pressure on his grew a little bit. "You're doing great. Almost there…"

Everything was infuriatingly, horrifyingly blurry. For a while the beeping – a heart monitor? – became jumpy and erratic. But slowly, with the comforting hold his companion had on him, his body and mind began to relax. In the meantime his vision was clearing gradually. Enough to eventually allow him a visual to Alex Blake's face.

First he smiled, utterly relieved. Then frowned at the sight of a nearly faded bruise on her temple. "… okay?" Good grief, his voice was nothing but a pathetic wheeze!

Miraculously enough Alex heard, though. Her eyes grew warm while she gave him a comforting smile. "I'm okay, I promise. Just a little bump to the head, is all. Trust me, you've got more than enough bruises of your own to worry about."

But Spencer couldn't relax. Not until he knew… "… others?"

Alex's eyes darkened, just a little, at that. More than enough to make his heart plummet into his stomach. She swallowed hard. "JJ and Garcia are fine. They're trying to control the media storm and anxious for news. Morgan's also doing pretty well. They're thinking about discharging him in a couple of days but I wonder if the staff can hold out until then." She inhaled deep. "I'm… telling you this because I know that you wouldn't give up until you'd fished it out. There… was a car crash. Duncan managed to inject Hotch with a strong sedative while he was driving and they sped off the road. Hotch lost quite a bit of blood and got bruised from head to toe but he's already up and about. Rossi's side of the car took most of the damage but he's hanging on tight. Of course it'd take more than a crash to take away someone that stubborn." Alex appeared utterly exhausted, still far more tense than she should've been but also relieved. Yet there were shadows hiding in her eyes.

Spencer tried to demand further information because her flimsy explanation didn't ease the sheer terror blowing inside him. "… 'in someth'…", was all that came out. Slowly yet inevitably he began to realize that perhaps his speech problems were more than just a scratchy throat.

And now that he thought about it… The right side of his body, the one Alex wasn't occupying, didn't feel quite right. He tried to move his leg. It barely twitched. His hand refused to move at all. The terror from before turned into complete, all consuming panic while he stared into Alex's eyes, pleading answers.

Alex gulped loudly. "Don't panic, alright? It's… It's going to be okay, I promise. We'll all be there for you." For a moment there seemed to be moisture in her eyes. "You've been unconscious for two weeks. Your body… It was without oxygen for several minutes. Afterwards the doctors spotted a blood clot. By then it'd already moved and caused a stroke." Her squeeze on his left hand became tighter. "You have hemiparesis on the right side of your body."


It was all a bit hazy afterwards. Spencer had a feeling that his damaged, barely functioning body went into a state of shock. That much would've made sense. There was a lot to take in.

The next time he became coherent there was a new presence in the room. The sound of paper rustling crawled into his consciousness and he turned his head, curious. Sure enough, Sherlock was sitting at his right, intently focused on a case file although the man's expression was unfazed.

"Mycroft is trying to lure me into taking a new case", the detective explained without glancing his way. Clearly having somehow sensed that he was awake. "Irritating. I've already told him that I'm not taking new ones yet." Until John has recovered, remained unvoiced. "And this is barely a three", the tall Brit scoffed, scandalized.

For Spencer it was a relief that he didn't seem to be expected to speak. He kept looking at Sherlock for a moment, taking in the fatigue and tension. So much emotional strain on a man who wasn't supposed to have a heart.

"Why?" he dared to try at last, hating his new voice.

Sherlock looked at him. The man's eyes were completely free of pity although he must've dug out Spencer's current condition. "John kicked me out when his doctor came in to discharge him." That certainly needed no further elaboration. The detective focused on the file once more. "But to answer your question… I came to make sure that I won't lose a third."

Spencer would've wanted to know what, exactly, those cryptic words meant. But for the time being he was more than satisfied with the companionable, easy silence that lingered between them. In the end tiredness got the better of him. By the time he woke up Sherlock was gone but there was a brief, hastily written note left for him.

'I may need some help with a case, after all. Contact me when they let you out of this infuriating place. And remember that I prefer to text. S.H.'

Spencer smiled and for just that once didn't care if it came out all wrong.


Duncan Durbin also received three visitors.

The moment his eyes flew open, darting around rapidly, his mind's version of Samuel was there. Sneering down at him. "Well how about that. Good morning, sleepy head."

Out of instinct Duncan tried to speak. Wanted desperately to call out, to beg whoever was listening to give him something that'd chase the illusion away. But his lips didn't even quiver.

Panic struck through like wildfire. His heart monitor reacted instantly, the furious beeping becoming frantic. Duncan kept trying to open his mouth and when that didn't work he attempted to move his hands. He couldn't. And upon closer, borderline hysterical inspection he came to a absolutely mortifying realization.

He couldn't control even a single part of his whole body, couldn't do anything beyond blinking.

"It's called locked in syndrome", Samuel supplied. His brother's ghost sounded entirely too pleased. "That body of yours… It pulled a fast one on you. You'll never, ever move around again. Or speak. From this day forward only I will understand what you want to say."

It was a nightmare. Had to be. Duncan felt a couple of tears running down his cheeks but couldn't do a thing to wipe them away.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end! This wasn't how it was supposed to end! THIS WASN'T HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO END!

In the end a group of medical professionals came, finally alarmed by the riot his heart monitor was making. They offered absentminded soothing words, injected something. In a flash the world around him began to fall away.

The last thing he heard before the dark was Samuel's ice cold chuckling.

The second time Duncan woke up it was to sobbing. A female voice he'd never heard before sighed. "… very sorry, Mrs. Durbin. But the brain damage was too extensive. His condition is permanent." His. To these people Duncan wasn't even a human being, he could hear it from that tone of a voice.

Duncan must've fallen asleep or blacked out. Because all of a sudden the sobs were closer. A hand was squeezing his, so hard that it hurt. He wished that he would've been able to tell it to slacken, at least a little.

"I… I'm so sorry, Duncan", his mother whispered in a hopelessly broken, lost voice. Sounding so drained and miserable that it pained him. She was sitting so that he would've had to turn his head to see her. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. "For not seeing. For not doing anything. For not protecting you, any of you. Now… Now I've lost…" She gasped, sounding as though she'd been drowning despite being on dry land. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

'Please, mom, stop crying…! It wasn't your fault. I swear! I'm sorry, too.'

Duncan would've given anything, absolutely anything, if he'd been able to comfort her. Even if the words and actions had been insincere. He wanted to hug her, whisper soothing nothings, give promises even if they were empty. But as it was he couldn't even cry. So he blinked on because it wa all he could do. Delivering a desperate morse code that no one noticed or understood.

It was impossible to tell how long passed. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Time blurred together, became nothing more than a shapeless, incomprehensible and insignificant blob. Nurses and doctors came, and all the looks he received were full of either disgust or pity. 'You've deserved this' could be read from several eyes.

His mother didn't visit again and Duncan tried hard not to wonder why. No one but the staff came, in fact, until one rainy evening the room's door opened and heavy steps entered. "They told me that you're a vegetable", a male voice he couldn't recognize informed in a eerily cheery tone. "But I just had to come and see it for myself. It sounded too good to be true."

His heart thudded but by some miracle them monitors didn't react. And then the arrival's face came to his line of vision. As did the frosty grin. It was a man of his age with stony brown eyes and a little overgrown hair of the same color, dressed as a police officer. "Hi, Samuel. Do you still remember me?"

'No, I don't! I've never seen you in my life!'

"Who do you imagine gave you the clues to help you avoid the police and the FBI for this long, hmm? It was sort of amusing to watch them running around and you imagining that nothing could go wrong. But this… This is definitely the best part." The arrival leaned closer. He smelled a trace of garlic. "So yeah, I gave Mycroft Holmes a little information on Moriarty. But that was no excuse for my wife and daughter to die. They were innocent!" The tear filled eyes held such rage and agony that it was palpable. "You thought that I was the one in that car when it blew up and killed them, didn't you? I'll make you wish that I had been. Because right now… Right now I could slaughter you and you wouldn't be able to lift a finger against me."

Duncan blinked rapidly, staring at the stranger. Desperate. Terrified.

It was bitter irony, really, that after pretending to be Samuel for so long he suddenly wanted to scream out his real name.

Or… Perhaps he didn't. The rest of his life in a prison that was his own body? Of… this? Maybe death would've been better.

The stranger smirked. "I could end your life, right here. But I won't. Because this is a far more justified punishment." With that the man turned around and began to walk away. "Goodbye, Samuel."

Finally the frantic, broken beat of Duncan's heart registered to his monitor. He wanted to scream, to roar, to tear everything to pieces. Anything to unleash the hurricane blowing inside. But once again he couldn't even cry.

The only person who could've saved him from this just condemned him into a eternity in hell and he didn't even know the man's name.


TBC, for an epilogue.


A/N: Oh man… That was sort of creepy. Poor Reid! And dare I say poor Duncan…? (Meh, maybe not.)

Sooo… How was that? Any good, at all? It'd be super cool if you dropped a line or two.

Dang, the time's running fast! I've gotta dash. For now, until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!