Parts of this chapter inspired by 'A Monstrous Regiment of Woman' by Laurie R. King (2nd in the Mary Russell series, which I highly recommend).

Is this it? This is the restaurant he was talking about, right? I mentally questioned, shivering in the cold of the alleyway and searching for the person I was supposed to meet with. God damn, it's cold. I miss my hoodie. I caught a whiff of myself and grimaced. And I still smell, so it's not like it changed much. I fidgeted, and then spotted someone walking towards the restaurant. I hesitated, not wanting to be wrong, but when the person looked around and then snuck into the alleyway beside it, I took a chance. I bolted from my place across the road and hurried over to the slim figure wearing haggard clothing. Homeless network. Clever, Sherlock. Once hidden in the shadows again, I approached them.

"You're Sherlock's homeless network, yeah? He sent you here for me. Look." I held out the paper and watched as the figure took it without saying a word; their face covered by the shadow of their baseball cap that looked vaguely familiar. "He says you can help me for the night. I was just hoping for a coat, if anything. I've already got a place in mind that I can use to… lay low…"

It was then that I recognized the cap. Dark with 'London' stamped across the front of it and a Union Flag on one side; red lining the brim. My heart leapt up into my throat as a grin came over the man's face as that sickly sweet voice entered my ears and sent a chill down my spine.

"No need, Sammy dear. I'll hide you away easily." Moriarty smirked, dropping the paper as I made to bolt.

I was grabbed though, but the remaining handcuff on my wrist twisted painfully around and I was slammed up against a wall with strength I didn't expect from the man who never got his hands dirty.

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't want me doing something dangerous to our boy Sherlock, now would you?" He murmured into my ear as I grit my teeth; hearing him lock the other cuff over my wrist behind my back. "All it would take is one word. I can speed up my plan in an instant, Sammy, and that's one thing I know you can't predict."

I closed my eyes begrudgingly, bowing my head slightly and knowing I was beaten. I have no choice. I have to do as he says. I can't have Sherlock in danger. No matter what.

"That's a good girl. Now, how about we change locations. I've got the perfect thing for you."

Sherlock sat on the floor in Molly's lab, bouncing a rubber ball against the cabinet in front of him as John walked into the room.

"Got your message."

"The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it. Beat Moriarty at his own game." Sherlock replied.

"What do you mean, 'use it'?"

"He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook."

Or so he said, but something was bothering Sherlock.

"And bring back Jim Moriarty again." John concluded as Sherlock stood.

"Somewhere in 221B, somewhere. On the day of the verdict, he left it hidden." Sherlock turned and leaned on the table in front of him as John hummed.

I'm missing something. Something important.

"What did he touch?" John asked, hoping that would help Sherlock figure out where Moriarty left the code.

"An apple. Nothing else." Sherlock muttered, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Did he write anything down?"

"No."

Where? Did Sam mention it?

"You're missing it."

Sherlock frowned at the voice in his head, repeating her earlier words to him.

"It's a game for you, remember...?"

"…It's all part of a bigger plan and you need to be careful."

He shook his head. No, I need something about the code. The code Moriarty had.

"It's a joke."

He frowned, dwelling on that for some reason before a noise interrupted his thoughts. John was tapping on the table. A similar tapping that Moriarty had been doing back at Baker Street. One that Sherlock easily switched into binary code, yet it still felt wrong somehow. He was missing something staring him right in the face and the one person who should have been giving him hints about it wasn't around. He needed to get Moriarty's attention though, pushing Sam aside for the moment and stealthily pulling out his phone and sending the man a text.

Come and play.

Bart's Hospital rooftop.

SH

PS. Got something

Of yours you might

Want back.

Hours passed as Sherlock tried to figure out what it was he was missing, glancing at the pocket watch Sam had given him every so often as he wondered whether she'd slept at all that night. John was out cold at a table nearby, but Sherlock hardly noticed as he ran his fingers back and forth over the rubber ball he had on the table; not even flinching when a phone ringing cut the silence and woke John up.

"Yes, speaking." John grumbled, listening before getting to his feet in shock. "Uh, what? What happened? Is she okay?"

Sherlock straightened a bit, listening in and trying in vain to make his stomach stop twisting in fear.

"Oh my God. Right. Yes, I'm coming." John finished, hanging up.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson. She's been shot." John breathed out and a part of Sherlock relaxed, though he still played the act of someone concerned.

"What? How?"

"Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract. Jesus. Jesus." John breathed out. "She's dying, Sherlock. Let's go."

John hurried to the door, but Sherlock didn't move, looking away.

"You go. I'm busy grab Sam, if you find her. She should have shown up by now." He checked his watch again.

"Busy?" John gaped.

"Thinking. I need to think."

"You need to—Doesn't she mean anything to you?" John questioned him heatedly. "You once half-killed a man because he threatened to hurt her and got a hold of Sam instead."

"She's my landlady." Sherlock shrugged, wishing Sam was around to be the buffer between them.

If she knew everything, she'd be trying to urge the man out the door too.

"She's dying." John emphasized, but Sherlock still didn't react. "You machine. Sod this. Sod this." John moved back to the door. "You stay here if you want, on your own."

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." Sherlock recited.

"Nope. Friends protect people." John snapped, storming out.

"Why did you take me? I thought you were out to burn Sherlock?" I asked, scared out of my mind, but reacting far better than I expected, having been taken by Moriarty a second time.

Although, I think I'm just panicking. Shoving everything aside to be dealt with later when I'm not in such a tense situation where every action could cost me my life.

"Of course, dear, but you were listening, weren't you?" Moriarty smirked as I twisted on the ground of a darkened room, making my handcuffs clatter. "There's only one way to burn the heart out of a man like him."

"'Every person had their pressure point'." I quoted, frowning. "'Someone they want to protect from harm. Easy-peasy.'" I mocked him and he chuckled.

"So you were listening. Clever girl." He mused, messing with something on a table just out of my view.

I considered attacking him, but couldn't get the strength to. I was struggling with flashbacks of being tied in that chair, and I swore I could see Sebastian Moran standing in the corner should I attempt anything. Whether that was my mind playing tricks on me or not, had yet to be seen.

"So what?" I questioned further, trying to get information on my part in this; the one thing I couldn't predict for the life of me. "You kidnap me from him, drive him mad before doing the Fall?"

"Oh, no, Sammy. He would assume you're safe if I just said I had you locked up somewhere. No, in order to burn the heart out of him, I have to do the same to you."

I didn't dare ask the question on my lips. How? My brothers?

A light caught on whatever he was messing with on the table and I stiffened, knowing nothing about it other than it appearing to be metal or glass.

"Don't you want to know how, Sammy? Aren't you curious as to what I've got planned for you in the next dozen hours before the fall?" He asked, not really expecting an answer. "Because I've realized you won't tell me anything about what you know or where you got it from. I've given up on that. And there's no point in making what you say sound false because only Sherlock and John seem to believe you. So you don't have to worry about that either. I've got something far more entertaining in mind. Tell me. What do you know about Sherlock's faults?"

"Faults?"

"His weaknesses, his mistakes, his heart. Surely you know?" He hummed and I swore I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, as though someone was coming closer to me in the shadows.

"You mean like John and I? Mrs. Hudson? Mycroft?" I asked, confused.

"There's that, yes. But I meant something more… physical. Something more… potent."

He turned and I felt my eyes go wide and my entire body tense in fear at what he held in his hand.

"N-No…"

"Oh, yes, Sammy." He smirked. "But see. I'm not even going to do it." He set the needle on the ground in front of me. "You are."

I looked at him, confused. "W-What? Why would I—"

"Because, if you don't… Well, let's just say I've got more in mind for Sherlock than the Fall." He hummed, watching me as I looked down at the needle. "I could shoot him in the leg, push him off the building. I could bring a camera and live-stream it online. I could snatch John out of thin air and make him fall instead."

"No… No, don't." I breathed out, closing my eyes as I realized what I was going to have to do.

"Let's see then, how far you're willing to burn yourself for Sherlock Holmes." He cackled, picking up the needle and I begrudgingly turned my back to him so he could reach my arm. "You should almost be thanking me, Sammy." He hummed as I let out a single choked sob. "Soon, you won't have a care in the world and I'll reunite you with your favorite detective. I'm sure he'd love to see you safe and well."

Something tightened around my upper arm as tears slipped down my face. A sharp pinch in the crook of my elbow, then everything was gone; leaving me to feel the full effects of the heroin that had just been pumped into my veins.

"Have fun, Sammy~"

I felt sick; my entire body aching and throbbing as though a thousand knives were being stabbed into my very core. Vomit had been cleaned up from one section of the room I was in, before I'd been dosed up again. I was losing count. What was I counting? I was losing track of my thoughts, track of time. I wonder if Sherlock would like that pocket watch I saw… I could feel a tingling in the back of my mind, like someone screaming for me to focus, but I couldn't grab a hold. It just kept slipping through my fingers. I don't want to… Can't I just sleep in today, brother? I lay on the floor, trying to get some sense of self back into my mind and body, but it took longer than I wished. I finally latched onto a thought and forced myself upright with a groan. Holding down the bile in my throat, I got up and began muttering under my breath to try and help realign my thoughts and remember what I needed to focus on.

"Drugs, drugs, drugs. Heroin, opium, cocaine, speed, ecstasy, pot, cannabis. Euphoria, vomiting, headaches, pain, aches, anxiety, listlessness. One, two, three, four. Time, seconds, minutes, hours. Clock, fall. Sherlock, John. Moriarty."

I started to feel better. My mind began connecting thoughts properly again. I remembered why I was here, what had happened, what was going to happen. I fought to hang onto this, knowing that it was going to be a long twelve hours. Twelve hours that I wouldn't forget for the rest of my life. Twelve hours that will change my life as it was. Sherlock… I need to stay strong. Not just for him, but for me. Just as I was gaining control, he was back, and the euphoria began again.

Bliss, then sickness, then pain and confusion, then clarity, before repeating. Minutes felt like days and hours felt like months. I couldn't tell how long I was going between dosages. Hell, I couldn't tell how long it had been since I'd been brought here. I barely managed to push myself up from the bed this time and start walking, hoping that by doing the opposite of what the drug made me want to do, that I would regain myself faster. I didn't know if it was working. Every time I was dosed up, everything reset as though I hadn't even tried. It was… debilitating. I considered stopping at some point, but things started to get worse with the drug after that.

A vague part of me thought he was shortening the time between dosages, though I could never be sure. And the way I was reacting to it had already begun to change. A slim part of me wanted it now. It was better than smoking two packs of cigarettes a week. It made all the accumulated stress instantly vanish. It played visions in front of me as though I was back at home, back when my brothers cared. I even laughed at some point at an argument I believed Sherlock and John to be having in front of me at Baker Street. But then it would vanish, my stomach would twist angrily, and everything would grow bleak once more. So why was I so disappointed when Moriarty finally returned, only to smirk and announce.

"Last one, Sammy dear."

Moriarty sat up on the roof of Bart's, playing 'Stayin' Alive' by The Bee Gees on his phone as he waited; Sam sitting at his feet with a black bag over her head, her fingers twitching anxiously and rattling the cuffs around her red wrists. Sherlock walked out onto the roof not long after Moriarty had sent him the text announcing his arrival, and he flinched upon seeing Sam there, but made no sudden moves.

"Ah, here we are at last." Moriarty hummed. "You, Sam and I, Sherlock, and our problem. The final problem. Staying alive! It's so boring, isn't it?" Moriarty asked, shutting his phone off and holding a hand out parallel to the roof. "It's just… staying. All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you. And you know what? In the end it was easy. It was easy. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you're ordinary just like all of them. Even Sammy here wasn't that hard to crack. Ah, well."

Moriarty stood, purposely kicking Sam a bit as he walked around her to approach Sherlock.

"Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get to you?"

"'It was a joke.'" Sherlock said, making Moriarty raise a brow.

"Hm?"

"Richard Brook. Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach. The case that made my name. Sam figured it out."

"Yeah, well, she already knew. That's cheating." Moriarty hissed, spotting Sherlock's drumming fingers as he circled the man. "Good, you got that one."

"Beats like digits. Every beat is a one. Every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me. Hidden inside my head. A few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

"I told all my clients, last one to Sherlock is a sissy." Moriarty said.

"Yes, but now that it's up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty." Sherlock announced, but paused. "Except it's not that easy, is it?"

"Ooh, this is curious." Moriarty smirked. "Did Sammy give it away?"

"Hardly." Sherlock said bluntly, looking over at Sam and silently wondering what was going on with her.

She'd yet to move, after all, sitting almost patiently if it weren't for her twitching fingers.

"She simply said what I already knew and gave it emphasis. It's a joke. And I replied, 'Oh, it's always a joke to him.' Even this. So what's the secret? Some number you secretly placed in my seat cushion?"

"Number." Sam suddenly spoke up then, speaking slowly and slightly slurred. "One, two, three, four… No, way past four. Four was ages ago. Months, no, seconds. No… hours. Time. Lost track. What time is it?"

Sherlock frowned, looking at Moriarty. "What did you do to her?"

"Well, now, isn't that the question?" Moriarty smirked, walking over to Sam, who stiffened and brought up her hands to blindly defend herself. "Wakey, wakey, Sammy."

He pulled off the black bag over her head and she winced, cringing away from the minute amount of sunlight that burned her constricted pupils even through the clouds. Sherlock's eyes racked over her form, immediately seeing the signs and anger flooded his system. Constricted pupils, dry mouth, twitching fingers fighting off the need to itch.

"You drugged her." He concluded.

"Actually, she drugged herself. Just to keep you safe. Surprise!" Moriarty grinned, coming over and growing serious. "And there is no key, doofus!" He shouted in Sherlock's face; said man resisting the urge to tackle him to the ground after witnessing Sam's state. "Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless. You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock."

"And the rhythm?" Sherlock asked out of curiosity.

"'Partita number one.' Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach." Moriarty replied.

"So how did—"

"Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?" Moriarty finished for him, holding his arms out. "Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants. I knew you'd fall for it. Or would have, if Sammy hadn't intruded. That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it. Sammy should be coming out of it soon too. Conscious enough to watch it all happen."

"My suicide." Sherlock concluded, catching on right away.

"'Genius detective proved to be a fraud, coercing young, druggy college student to commit crimes to impress him.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales." Moriarty hummed, coming up beside Sherlock at the edge of the building. "Pretty Grimm ones too."

Sherlock turned to him angrily. "I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity."

"Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort." Moriarty drawled. "I'll even watch over Sammy here. Go on. For me? Please?"

Sherlock suddenly grabbed the man and held him precariously over the edge, shaking him with the threat of letting go.

"You're insane." Sherlock snapped.

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty quipped and Sherlock shoved him a bit further. "Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."

Sherlock hesitated. "John."

"Not just John. Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Everyone." He whispered again, smirking as Sherlock continued to frown.

"Lestrade."

"Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There's no stopping them now."

"Two." Sam said then, making them pause. "Two, deux, du, ni, dos. I owe Holmes a favor. He's getting the hall light fixed."

Moriarty scowled and Sherlock couldn't help but smirk.

"Two victims."

Moriarty still pressed the issue. "Two dead victims, unless my people see you jump."

Moriarty stepped out of his grasp, letting him dwell on that.

"You can have me arrested. You can torture me. You can do anything you like with me, but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only few friends in the world will die… unless…"

"…unless I kill myself. Complete your story." Sherlock finished.

"You've got to admit, that's sexier." Moriarty grinned. "I even brought Sam by for you."

"And I die in disgrace with her left to watch." Sherlock muttered, spotting Sam beginning to quiver as she held her head in her hands.

"Of course. That's the point of this." Moriarty glanced down. "Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on. I told you how this ends."

Sherlock took a shaky breath, stepping onto the edge and looking down.

"Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. I'm certainly not gonna do it."

Sherlock looked at Moriarty. "Would you give me one moment, please. One moment of privacy? Please."

Moriarty almost sighed. "Of course."

He walked away and Sherlock looked out, before something dawned on him and he chuckled, making Moriarty stop and turn around.

"What? What is it? What did I miss?" He demanded.

"'You're not going to do it.'" Sherlock quoted him. "So the killers can be called off, then. There's a recall code or a word or a number. I don't have to die, if I've got you." Sherlock sang, circling Moriarty now.

"Oh." Moriarty chuckled in return. "You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you." Sherlock said seriously.

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

Sherlock didn't care, getting in his face. "Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

Moriarty paused. "Nah, you talk big. Nah, you're ordinary. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them." Sherlock said seriously, hearing a small groan from Sam, but ignoring it.

"No, you're not." Moriarty gave in, looking him over before closing his eyes and opening them with a smile. "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me. You're me! Thank you!" Moriarty held out his hand and shook Sherlock's. "Sherlock Holmes and Sam Foxe. Thank you. Bless you."

"…No…" Sam grunted out, but Moriarty continued before Sherlock could turn away.

"As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends, you've got a way out… Well, good luck with that."

He grinned at a stunned Sherlock and pulled a pistol out of his coat, shoving it in his mouth and firing. Sherlock jumped back, staring in utter shock at the corpse now lying on the roof as Sam curled up in a ball and cried.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." She apologized, quaking as the heroin wore off.

Sherlock, though panicked, saw her state and felt something in him creak. A door he'd long ago shut tight that the young woman had managed to pry open. She'd gone through hell for him, then and now, and here she was. Still half drugged, coming down from a high, and begging for his forgiveness as though all of this was her fault. Sherlock knew what he had to do. He knew from the start. He'd hoped it would only end up a last resort, but Moriarty's death had sealed the deal for him. Sherlock Holmes had to die to save his friends, but who was going to save Sam? Who was going to save her from herself?

He slowly went over and knelt down in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders as she sobbed.

"I'm sorry. I-I'm so sorry. I-I wanted to change it. I wanted to."

"It's okay, Sam." He said, but she shook her head.

"I-I should have tried harder. You deserve better. Y-You deserve s-so much better. I messed everything up. T-This is all my fault."

"Look at me. Sam, look at me!" He snapped, lifting her head to face him as he brushed away the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. "Sam, none of this is your fault. I don't ever want you to believe that. Moriarty did this. He did the crimes, pulled the trigger, set this up. You… You saved me, Sam. Ever since I met you, all you've done is save me. And it's my turn to save you, because you are the most brilliant young woman I have ever met. So I want you to do me a favor. I want you to work hard until I come back. Work hard and become the best there can be, because I am proud of you and I'm not about to let you give up here. Promise me, that you'll do that. Promise me you'll take care of yourself and show me that you are someone worthy of my respect. Promise me that, Sam."

She nodded. "P-Promise."

Sherlock smiled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment and then tugging her into his arms.

"Then, I'll see you, Sam. My clever Sam."

"There's all the stuff." Mrs. Hudson murmured softly, her flowers resting in front of the headstone carved with Sherlock's name; John at her side. "All the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it so a school. Would you…?"

"I can't go back to the flat again. Not at the moment." John said and she took his arm sadly. "I'm angry."

"It's okay, John. There's nothing unusual in that." Mrs. Hudson comforted him as he tried to hold back the emotions. "That's the way he made everyone feel. All the marks on my table and the noise. Firing guns at half past one in the morning!"

"Yeah." John said softly.

"Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine. Keeping bodies where there's food!"

"Yes."

"And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!" She half cried. "Oh, but Sam was so good for him. She helped him so much and I don't have the slightest what she did. Have you seen her at all, dear?"

"No." John said sharply, a bit of bite to his tone. "She was gone with all her stuff after what happened."

"Oh… Poor dear. She must have had it so hard." Mrs. Hudson sighed, patting his arm and letting him go. "I'll leave you alone to, um… you know."

She began to cry as she walked away to give John some privacy. He made sure she was gone, before he turned to the stone and spoke; having a hard time.

"Um… mm… You… You told me once." He cleared his throat. "That you weren't a hero. Um…" He took a deep breath, trying to hold everything back. "There were times I didn't even think you were human, but… let me tell you this. You were… the best man and the most human… human being." Another breath, stuttering. "That I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. Yeah, so… there."

John looked back, being sure there still was no one around, before he leaned forward and place a hand on the stone.

"I was… so alone… and I owe you so much." He started to walk away, but doubled back. "But please, there's just one more thing. Okay. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock." He closed his eyes briefly. "For me. Don't… be… dead."

His voice had cracked on that last bit, and he had to try and compose himself once more; failing as he breathed out the last bit.

"Would you do that? Just for me? Just stop it. Stop this."

John took a deep breath, but couldn't hold it back any longer, sucking in a sob and wiping at his eyes. He held it back though, giving one final nod with a straight face, before making to leave. It was then that he heard footsteps and spotted someone coming out from behind one of the trees nearby. His heart swelled, hoping it was a miracle answered, but the slim figure in a coat wasn't Sherlock.

"S-Sam?" He questioned, holding back his anger for the moment as he took in how haggard she looked. "What… What are you doing here?"

"I-I, um…" She looked down at the flowers in her hands and then back up at him. "My school they… Bobby and my professor chipped in to let me stay until the funeral."

"What about the charges?"

"Dropped." She croaked out, licking her slightly blue lips. "I-I think Mycroft managed to make it look like a-a prank or something. My brothers aren't pleased, b-but my school let me off."

John though, was more concerned about something else, watching as she set down the flowers beside Mrs. Hudson's.

"Sam, what happened up there? You were there, weren't you? You knew this was going to happen, right? So why didn't you—"

"There was nothing I could have done." She cut him off, angering him as he stormed towards her.

"The hell there was!" He shouted, grabbing the front of her shirt, startling her. "You've known about this for ages, Sam! You proved that to us! So how the hell can you stand here and tell me there was nothing you could have done?!"

"E-Everything has to go as it should, o-or the plot would be messed up and—"

"Oh, it's a plot now?" John snapped furiously. "Is that all we are to you, Sam? Characters in some stupid book being played out for your amusement? Hell, for all I know, Kitty was right! You and Moriarty have been working together from day one! Don't know how you managed to convince us before, but you sure aren't about to fool me now."

John reached down and scooped up her flowers, shoving them back into her arms roughly.

"So you best get out of here before I call the cops."

"B-But, John, I—" She grimaced. "I-I couldn't have done anything. By the time I c-could even move, Moriarty had already—"

"I don't care!" He shouted. "Sherlock seemed to think you were so damn clever, so why is it that you're perfectly fine saving a maniac like Irene or Frankland, but the moment your friend is in trouble you just turn away and say there's nothing you can do?! You were supposed to save him! You were supposed to save the idiot you love, but you didn't! You watched him die! You put him there! This is all your fault! All of it is just—It's just—Ah!"

John furiously punched her, knocking her to the ground, and allowing his anger to finally come over him at everything that had just happened. He stood, hovering over her as he tried to regain some control to prevent him from assaulting her further in his fury.

"Y-You—You did this to him." He snarled at her. "I don't know what the hell he saw in you. You betrayed us, Sam. You killed Sherlock Holmes and I'm never going to forgive you for that."

He turned and stormed off, leaving Sam on the ground as she pushed herself up onto her knees.

"I-I… I suppose I should have expected t-this." She stuttered out to seemingly no one, letting out a pained whimper as she hauled herself to her knees. "Y-You should see him l-later. He really shouldn't… bottle it up so much."

Her voice cracked as she faltered trying to stand, having to grab onto Sherlock's gravestone to keep from landing in the grass again. Her body quivered, not from John's hit, but the after effects of the drug she'd been trying to deal with on her own the last few days. It took her a few minutes to grow steady on her feet again, but she managed and picked up the flowers John had shoved back at her. She straightened them out as best she could before replacing them in front of his grave with a broken chuckle.

"A-And to think… I did this all for you. My brothers are going to kill me if they find out, but they won't. Bobbie, I think knows, but I-I'll need to take some time off of school until I'm better. I barely made it here." She looked down at the stone, placing a hand over the top much as John had before. "Moriarty was right about one thing though… I would burn my heart for you."

Her hand slipped from the stone and she turned towards a tree briefly, before stumbling away as a figure stepped out from behind it; watching her go and wishing he could have done so much more for her. Sam Foxe; the young woman who lost it all trying to save Sherlock Holmes.