"What is it, Emma?" Mycroft asked as soon as he shut the door behind them.
"He left a note in my hand."
She pulled a small piece of torn paper out of her pocket, and handed it over to Mycroft.
"I have answers to your questions. Come if you want. There's an address…" his voice faded away as he looked at her expression. Why didn't she look horrified by the idea of going there?
"I want to go see him."
"Unfortunately, you won't."
"Why not?" she walked closer to him and grabbed his hand in hers. "He's here. That means we passed the Hell. We've been through Hell and we survived, and now he's here. He's exposed, and I really do have questions to ask him. It's not too late to ask Sherlock to fake our death, there's still a way out. So why not go?"
"It's dangerous!"
"Of course it is! But if he wanted me dead, he would have let that car hit me, right?"
Mycroft breathed out heavily. She was so naive, trying too hard to believe that a man named Ian Thompson actually exists.
"You don't know him. He wants to choose the exact way you'll die. He wants to choose your last words, your last acts. To him, we're all tools in his vast chess game, and he's the king."
"No, you don't know him. I refuse to believe there isn't a part of him that is Ian Thompson. We were friends for such a long time, you can't fake things like that."
"That's exactly what he wants you to think! Don't you see? It's a trap!"
She looked at him profoundly.
He sighed. She had made him soft.
"Fine. Go if you want."
She half smiled and kissed him. She left without turning back.
Only after she closed the door behind her and walked away from the room, she let herself open the second note, the one she couldn't show him, and read it again.
If you won't come, I will come to you and kill you right in front of him.
If you'll show him this note, I'll come.
If you'll tell anyone, I'll come.
Miss you already,
Jim Moriarty xx
She swallowed her tears as she left the building.