Disclaimer: I still don't own a single thing A.N. Again, warnings needed for Major Character Death, and gore. Don't kill me people, please.

Chapter 49: Holes and loopholes.

John and Sherlock had left the alley behind a couple of miles ago, John deciding to walk off the unpleasant experience.

"What a waste," echoed loudly in the street.

It was neither of the two men bemoaning the senseless loss of a life. The doctor whipped around, incredulous. No, he wasn't hearing things. With an odd grimace on his face, here was Jim Moriarty himself. "You…you…" he said, pointing at the other.

"In the flesh, love. How does it feel to have misdeduced so seriously, Sherlock?" Jim's expression settled into a mocking smirk. Somehow, even the famously busy Londoners gave him a wide berth, while he walked up to his 'old friends'.

"I could still be right. It was an assessment of your character, after all. I've not investigated your crime scene," the detective retorted.

"Never mind that! Where the fuck have you been? And – it didn't occur to you to pop out a minute earlier? You obviously saw, or at least heard, the state Seb was in – because of you!" John yelled, glaring.

"Yes, and? What was he to me? Useful, of course. Not entirely unpleasant to be around, either, I'll give you that. But this is his best masterpiece. I told you I'd do things my way, Johnny boy," Moriarty replied, shrugging.

"What do you think you obtained, exactly?" the sleuth asked, cocking his head to the left. Jim had never been a danger to John's life, before, and was clever enough to ensure an interesting conversation.

"John is like me, now. You tried to manipulate him –" Jim said, eyes glinting with mad happiness.

The doctor snorted. "That's rich."

Moriarty ignored the interruption, continuing, "but you couldn't ruin his fibre entirely. He's worthy to be a god. He'll destroy anyone on his path without blinking. That is how godliness is attained, that's what Dyaus said, and your pathetic attempts to rig the game have been proven useless. People die, Sherlock. Why do you think Dyaus would even organize something like that? Just for fun?"

"The thought had occurred to me, yes. He wouldn't be the first or the last sadist I've met," the detective said, shrugging.

"Causality, for Dyaus' sake! Most of the fucking time, the cause for something being created is something else being destroyed. Yes, people included. You cannot be tender-hearted and control cause and effect – that would be the start of madness in the world!" Jim ranted, pacing around the two of them and throwing his arms in the air.

"Well, you're not much of a god then, are you? If you're bound to the same rules as everyone else in the universe…Maybe Dyaus is just not smart enough to find another way. John is cleverer than that," Sherlock replied, fire in his eyes.

"One, I'd thank you both if you didn't talk over me as if I were a knickknack. For someone who has as high an opinion of me as you both claim, you're behaving like giant arseholes. I don't need to be taught how the world works, ta very much, I managed it till past thirty even before Dyaus entered my life, and – contrarily to some people – I've never had the chance to be sheltered from anything. And Sherlock, I believe you'll find you are the clever one, but I'm starting to think that yeah, I'll have to become God simply because you two are both bonkers, what with one being murderous and the other who'd play way too fast and loose with the bloody fucking universe," John snapped, crossing his arms. Honestly, geniuses. They were amazing but someone needed to rein them in. And the universe was dumb enough to believe he was the man for the job.

A black hole opening at the end of the street startled them all. "Oh, fuck – did Dyaus lie?" John shouted. He wasn't the only one screaming. Most of the others were running, too.

"No. It didn't just swallow someone – it took at least two cars, too, one parked and one travelling," the detective pointed out. Of course he'd noticed. He always did.

"The universe is starting to break apart – Dyaus is too weak, and we've all been dillydallying just because. We had 30 days at most, it doesn't mean that we need to wait until the very last second to settle this. There's only one thing to do," Jim chided, running towards the black hole.

The other two followed him, more out of instinct than anything else. John almost expected to see him dive into the void, Gollum-style, but – as always – Jim surprised them. He deviated on a side street, then another, avoiding another gaping maw of chaos, and came upon the Embankment. There, he stilled abruptly. Sherlock, the long-legged annoyance that he was, stumbled on him. Almost too quick for the eyes to follow, Jim gripped him, pivoted around, and – in a considerable feat for someone of his size – managed to throw the sleuth into the Thames.

John screamed. Sherlock struggled for a few seconds, and then a wave hid him, and he went under. The water was so dark…was it the Thames being its usual filthy self, or had a black hole opened beneath the surface of the water? Stomach knotted, the doctor wished sorely he'd paid more attention to the everyday sight.

A click made his eyes turn away from the water. Jim was smiling, and photographing the empty river with his phone. A trophy? The fucker wanted a photo to remember the time he got rid of Sherlock? John acted without thinking. He looked around, found a pebble, and threw it with all his strength. His aim had always been sure – and it was. Jim's hand opened, waving the pain away, and his phone fell, following Sherlock into the river.

Only Jim was still there. The universe didn't make sense anymore. The madman giggled. "Cheers, Johnny. That's what I was talking about. No hesitation, no offering alternatives. Just do what needs to be done."

"How are you still here?" the doctor growled, pointing at him.

"Oh, honestly. You believe that Sherlock can rig the game, and you don't believe that I can spot an obvious loophole the size of Everest? That I'm the only one who did makes me despair of people, really. If your phone is destroyed you die, sure. If that's the only phone you have. It said nowhere that the blog would appear only on one of your phones – that's not how these things work, is it? And we don't live in a dystopia where you're forbidden to buy more than one," Moriarty explained. He took a couple steps away from the water, and pulled another mobile phone out of his pocket.

Later, John would have wondered if it could really be as easy as that. If they really were all idiots. At the moment, though, the only thought in his brain was to make the bastard pay. Jim having a…mixed relationship with him was one thing. Jim killing his best friend was quite another. He'd make sure the smug motherfucker regretted that, preferably in hell.

John smiled. Anyone who knew him before the game would have been terrified. They would be right.

Jim, instead, grinned back at him, opening his arms as if expecting a hug. The tackle that followed had nothing friendly about it. John started pummeling him blindly. The former soldier wasn't planning a clean kill. He saw red, and he wanted to actually see it – and lots. Broken teeth, nose, what would ultimately become a collection of pretty impressive collection of bruises if they were normal people and one's dead body would stay around long enough for it to happen.

Jim tried to wriggle around, to ensure the hits landed where he preferred, and yet kept giggling all along. The man was madder than a whole firm of hatters. At one point, his contortions brought his mouth near John's ear. Instead of biting in retaliation, he spit some blood, and whispered, "Would you do this to your God?"

"Course not," the former soldier replied, not letting up.

"Then –" Jim said.

"I'd do worse," John growled, landing a solid hit that left the other man breathless. The bastard who put them all up to this in the first place? If John could catch him now, Dyaus would turn into a pile of ground meat….twice ground, like his ma always preferred.

At any other time, a cop would have interrupted them long ago. But during the end of the world, a random brawl wouldn't have registered on anyone's brain, even if people hadn't left the area long ago, looking for safety…and not finding it, because the world crumbled like Swiss cheese, holes randomly popping here and there, rather than like a failed soufflé.

"You…belong…" Moriarty panted, attempting to still the other man by enveloping his limbs around him. Another hit at his windpipe made him fall silent again, and go slack.

This ended. This ended now. John eyed another sharp, sparkling piece of debris – probably once part of a soda can – and managed to roll them around until it was in his reach. The metal cut his hand…but it also made a perfect rudimentary weapon to stab Moriarty. Right into his still oddly unafraid eye. John pressed, hoping to plunge the whole crude blade in that so dangerous brain.

Jim's last look was one of surprise.