Note: Wow, thank you so much for the reviews guys! I'm sorry I've taken ages to update properly. A severe case of Writers' Block, I guess you could say. Anyway, I hope this fairly dramatic chapter makes up for it! Again, thank you so much for the positive comments. I appreciate them so much xxx

Sherlock

The sky was awash with pink and orange and violet. The world below was sleeping. My heart beat tirelessly against my chest, convincing me that I was awake and that this, all of this, was real. I huddled closer into my coat to try and prevent myself from shivering, but it did not work. James Moriarty watched me amusedly, but I felt nothing. Nothing at all. After all, what use was masking fear now?

"The sun will have risen soon," He said, almost speaking his thoughts aloud, his gaze lost to the sky. "We may as well pass the time until the time comes."

"I assume you're referring to the time in which I will jump." I stated, coldly.

"Congratulations!" His eyes became lit with their typical menacing humour. "Top marks, Sherlock."

"It wasn't too taxing to figure out." I said, dryly.

He just smiled. "We've had fun, haven't we?"

There had been too many of these moments…I was well acquainted with the sickening dread that filled my stomach with his words. He thought that we were alike and, in some ways, we were. There had always been and always would be that significant something that connected and intertwined us both, and there had been so many times when I looked at myself in disgust at the thought that, really, I was just as bad as the man I had tried so hard to escape. There were so many times in which I thought I had become him…and it had scared me more than anything now.

But, looking at him now, I felt nothing but coldness. Emptiness. There was nothing that connected us both, just a series of events that he had been the one to create and manipulate. I felt no pity for him. He was a maniac. A mad man. He knew no bounds. He filled me with such hatred and loathing that I found it difficult to stare him straight in the eye. Significant memories flashed before my eyes: John, tangled in explosives, crouched down on the cold, wet tiles of a swimming pool, breathing heavily in fear. The series of letters scratched into the soft flesh of a crimson red apple. His sick smile. Mia, my Mia, lying in a pit of darkness, stained with her own blood, her face contorted with pain.

I looked at him, then, and could not contain my hatred.

"I won't give you the satisfaction by telling you I despise you, I wouldn't want to fuel your pathetic sense of self-triumph. You're not a martyr, you're a parasite. You stand for nothing, and you'll fall for nothing. You immerse yourself in fairy-tales and lies and tell yourself that you will never be chased, but let me assure you, that they will never cease to chase you even when I am gone. There was a time when I thought, perhaps, that we were alike. But you and I are not alike; we never were, we never will be. You're worthless. Pathetic. Soon enough, I will die – but you are already dead."

"How dramatic," He sniffed. "I merely inquired whether you had enjoyed yourself, but never mind."

"I wish to do it now." I told him, overwhelmed by a sudden fatigue. "I don't want to wait. I don't believe in prolonging the inevitable."

"How admirable, Sherlock." He commented. 'Off you pop, then."

I exhaled the breath I had been holding in, allowed it to escape in a heavy shudder. The air was bitingly cold as it snagged at my skin, but I slipped off my coat and let it fall to the floor. The loss of weight finally allowed me to feel free. I had not felt such a feeling in so long…if ever. I ignored Moriarty's amusement as I kicked off my shoes and stood on the frozen concrete with bare feet. I felt numb, but that was OK. Numb was good, in fact. Numb meant that I couldn't feel, and if I couldn't feel…I was free.

I stared down at the world beneath me, the world I had been chained to for so long. I had always longed to escape it, yet now I felt no anger, no regret, no bitterness…only awe at its strange kind of beauty. It was a world I had never felt a part of, until now. For once, everything was connected. The sky. The clouds. The concrete. And I was there, a part of it all, a small fragment, a small piece of an overwhelmingly large puzzle.

"Take one more step, and you're dead."

It happened in an instant. One moment I was on top of the world, ready to fall, devoid of all feeling. The next, I was overwhelmed by warmth. She stood, shivering, as the wind tangled her hair and cold air mottled her skin like a bruise. She was such a skinny pale thing, standing there in a white nightgown that billowed in the breeze. It almost appeared as if a gust of wind would knock her over completely, or if the wind blew a little too hard she would break into pieces. Her left hand trembled around the handle of a long, curved, silver blade that was patterned with dried blood. She was breathing hard, her lungs struggling for air. In that moment, I thought my heart might explode.

"Mia…" I said softly, her name like cold rain against bare skin, a whisper against a cry for help.

"Well, isn't this a turn up for the books." Moriarty ran his tongue over his teeth as his mouth stretched into a maniacal grin. "Welcome, Miss Grey. I was under the impression that I had killed you. I mean, don't get me wrong, it isn't that I'm not delighted to be awarded with your presence once again, I'm just somewhat surprised."

"Don't be." She spat.

"I am curious as to how you managed to survive a lethal dose of metamorphine."

"I'm curious as to why you're still talking." She said, raising the knife slightly in her hand.

His eyes flickered down to the blade, but his smile did not falter.

"Touche, Miss Grey. Touche, indeed. A young girl like you should not be brandishing such a weapon…especially not a weapon belonging to one of my very own men."

"You underestimate me, James." She said, coldly. "But, then, that has always been a weakness of yours."

He chuckled. "You amuse me greatly, my love. It's quite clear you've been rehearsing this speech in your head ever since you regained consciousness – please, continue."

"Very well." She said, taking a step closer towards us both. "I have a proposal for you."

"Oh dear, I really am incredibly flattered but I've never been the settling down type…even for a beautiful girl such as yourself."

"Most amusing." She said, taking another step closer, her grip tightening on the knife. "But this is not one of marriage."

"I gathered." He said, dryly. "Continue."

"Well, I say proposal." Mia said, with a shrug, her voice clear and confident. "But, then, you don't really have a choice in this."

"How very ominous," He commented, mockingly. "Go on."

"First of all, you're going to step away from Sherlock. Four steps, precisely, to the left. Then, you're going to give word to your men that they are to leave this building. Finally, you're going to allow Sherlock and I to jump from this roof together."

I stared at her, but her gaze was not concentrated on me. My heart tightened. Together? I would never allow it. When I looked back at Moriarty, I noticed that his skin had paled, but that his smile had tightened.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Grey, but I'm afraid your last request is completely unattainable."

"That's interesting." Once again, she took another step closer. "Because I disagree entirely."

"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Quite so," She said. "Just a minute ago you asked me how I managed to survive a fatal dose of metamorphine as if you had intended for me to overdose and, consequently, die. You didn't intend for me to die, the overdose was a mistake. I may have been fighting consciousness, but I heard what you said to Miss Adler; the dose was supposed to sedate me, but it was never intended to kill me. You need me alive."

I stared at her, taken aback. This was not the girl John had found in Baker Street with dirt-ridden skin, wet tangled hair and wild eyes filled with fear…and yet it was. She had been there, all along – hiding behind a shadow that was afraid of the dark. Now, looking at her, I could not begin to comprehend just how much I had underestimated her.

"You flatter yourself, my love." He said.

"Don't call me that." By now, her grip around the blade was so tight that her knuckles had turned white. "And don't lie. What use is lying now? Unless…you're afraid of the truth?"

"James Moriarty has never been aware of any kind of truth, let alone afraid of it." I said, but he merely snorted.

"I don't know about that," Mia said, softly, watching him intently. "I think he is afraid."

"You don't even know the meaning of fear, Miss Grey." He snarled.

"Don't I?" The corners of her mouth turned into a smile, but it lacked warmth.

"You mentioned Miss Adler?" I frowned.

Her eyes darkened instantly. "She was a part of it. She always was."

I nodded. "I thought as much – I searched through her phone this morning after she left. I found multiple missed calls, each from an unknown number. When I attempted to trace the call, it couldn't be found. It didn't take much to figure it out after that."

"Took you long enough didn't it, Sherlock?" Moriarty grinned. "Sentiment. I told you it was dangerous."

"Sentiment?" I shook my head. "Do not mistake yourself in thinking that I care something for that woman. I lost anything I may have felt for her when I saw her cold, motionless, supposedly dead body lying in the morgue."

"If you say so," He chuckled. "Anyhow, it's irrelevant now. Shall we deal with the task at hand?"

"Yes, let's. Why exactly is it that you are obligated to keep Amelia alive?"

"Ah, but that would be telling."

I could feel anger beginning to rise within me, scarlet and uncontrollable.

"This isn't a game anymore." I hissed, through gritted teeth. "Tell. Me. WHY."

His soulless eyes almost seemed to glint with intensity and satisfaction as he remained completely silent. He savoured my fury, my anger, my helplessness. And then it came to me…a spark of light amongst the darkness.

"You want to keep her, don't you? That's why." Hollow laughter escaped my lips. "Her father told you he wanted nothing to do with her except to get rid of her completely…he told you to kill her if it came down to it…but you couldn't resist, could you? With you, she'd always remain unknown. In the shadows. She'd never come to light and you would have therefore done your job…but you'd have an assistant to show for it. You want to turn her into you."

He sniggered. "Excellent work, Sherlock. Really. Exemplary."

"She'll never be yours." I said. "She will never, ever be you."

"Oh, come now, Sherlock. You and I both know that's not quite true. Anyone can turn if they really want to…and, between you and I, once they have, they never return."

I opened my mouth to speak, but was silenced by Mia.

"Sherlock," She said. "Please."

I stared at her, helplessly, as she turned back to him.

"If I am…to become your…assistant…" She closed her eyes momentarily, and I could tell that she was willing her voice to stop shaking. "You're to let Sherlock go. Let Sherlock live, and I will come willingly."

My heart dropped.

"Mia," I shook my head in disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

"Sherlock, please!" She exclaimed, close to tears, and steadied her voice once again. "I will come with you wherever you want me to. I will not try to run away. I will never attempt to find my father…or my family. I will never return to Baker Street…I'll never try to find Sherlock again…I will stay with you, always, if you allow him to walk free from this roof and promise never to pursue him again."

"Don't be so ridiculous!" I snapped but, in my helplessness, I saw his eyes widen once again with satisfaction. I felt as if she was sand and that as hard as I tried to cling to her, she was slipping through my fingers.

"Is that a promise, Miss Grey?" He challenged.

"You have my word." She said, quietly, refusing to look at me.

He took a step closer towards her.

"No!" I shouted. "Take one step closer to her, and I'll – I'll –"

"And you'll what, Sherlock?" He asked, his voice tinted with amusement.

I fell silent. I had no words, none at all. I could only watch as he took several steps closer towards her, closing the emptiness that separated them. He turned to look at me purposely, before pressing his lips to hers. I felt ice grip my heart as I watched. Her eyes remained open, staring blankly into space. I stared down at her knees, skinny and pale and patterned with bruises, as they trembled. And that was when I saw the knife that still remained in her grasp…