Author's note: Happy Birthday to me!

To celebrate, here have the last chapter.

I don't own anything.

For once, Sherlock had surprised Moriarty. There could be no doubt about it. And yet –

Something was wrong. Even as the consulting criminal looked worried – or as worried as he could be – there was still a certain gleam in his eyes, a gleam that told him that Jim was enjoying himself.

Sherlock had done something the consulting detective wanted him to do – again – and he was pleased.

It wasn't difficult to understand what or why.

He had once again turned Sherlock into a murderer.

The consulting detective clenched his teeth and said, slowly, "John, do it. Now".

And the doctor (who had decided he would do it if it meant saving Sherlock, the consulting detective was sure; he knew his best friend) hesitated. He hesitated for a second that seemed to stretch into eternity, and Sherlock understood that the ex-soldier was asking for permission. Despite the fact that he had told him to do it, though he knew he had to, he was still asking for permission, for one last conformation that he was doing the right thing.

Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded.

Suddenly, Castiel exclaimed "Wait!"

John froze as the former angel stepped up to Moriarty, looking into his black eyes.

"You underestimate humans" he announced, "You always did".

"Oh? Giving me advice now? Come on – Castiel, was it?" – you can't honestly tell me that. I beat Sherlock – beat him twice."

"You will die" Cas said, slowly. Moriarty was completely focused on his face, on his eyes, and so he was able to fold his hands behind his back and make a stabbing motion with his left arm towards his right one. He only hoped Sherlock would understand.

Apparently he did, because suddenly the consulting detective's knees gave out and he tumbled towards the fire place, barely holding on to it.

Moriarty looked at him briefly and smiled before returning his attention to Castiel.

"So what? I have died before; and I won't go back to Hell. Oh, and Sherlock will be completely destroyed. I win".

"I beg to differ" Cas answered simply, looking at Sam, Dean and John. They seemed to understand what he wanted to do, and he quickly gave Sherlock a wave – again behind his back.

"Do you? Well that's – "

Before Moriarty could say another word, Cas lunched at him, surprising him and sending them both crashing to the floor. Sam, Dean and John immediately came to his aid. The older Winchester punched the demon in the face, slightly disorienting him; only slightly, but it gave Cas enough time to roll up his sleeve as Sam and John pinned his arms down.

"Sherlock!" he screamed. In the next moment, the consulting detective was kneeling beside him. In one quick motion, he cut through the lock charm on Mycroft's arm.

Moriarty screamed out in pain and flung them off. The knife clattered loudly on the floor.

Cas had trouble breathing after his hard landing and was trying to stand up when he saw John grapple with Moriarty on the floor. Somehow the ex-soldier managed to catapult the consulting criminal right into the demon trap.

John stayed on the floor, breathing heavily.

"John?" Sherlock asked, breathing heavily.

"I'm fine" the doctor asked. "I'll be sore for a few days, but otherwise – " he smiled.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and turned towards Moriarty.

The consulting detective wasn't looking at him, though.

He was staring accusingly at Castiel.

"A surprise attack? Causing me pain? Really? You are just as boring as the rest of them!" he whined.
"I would have expected something different from an angel".

"I am not an angel anymore, remember?" Cas replied calmly.

Sherlock stepped towards the demon, only stopping when Dean signalled him that he was standing right before the devil's trap.

"You are right" he said slowly. "I have changed. I realized that caring is not always a disadvantage". Moriarty snickered, and Sherlock gave him a cold stare.

"If they hadn't cared, these men wouldn't have put themselves in danger just now only to save my brother. I did not expect you to understand."

Moriarty was taken aback for a moment, but then he grinned again, and Sherlock understood that it was time to tell them that all they had done had been in vain.

He had known from the beginning, when he'd learned that exorcising Moriarty only meant sending him back to Hell.

He would crawl out again. He had to be stopped at all costs.

And that meant burning his bones.

Sherlock couldn't ask John to do it. This was his brother; his responsibility.

"John, would you give me the bag and the frame thrower, please?" he asked politely.

The doctor looked at him, confused.

"Sherlock? What do you – "

"He is going to burn the bones" Cas said slowly.

John stared at Sherlock.

"He is wrong, right? You wouldn't – "

"John, if we send Moriarty back to Hell, he will only come back again. There is no other way."

"But – "

"No. It is the only way. We can't let him live, John".

Dean wanted to say something, but Sam grabbed his arm and shook his head. The elder hunter looked down at the floor and took a deep breath.

Moriarty's eyes turned black again as he grinned at Sherlock. The consulting detective opened his mouth – to tell his brother goodbye, in case he could hear him? To order the consulting criminal to leave one last time, even though it was hopeless? – but nothing came out. Because, suddenly, just like that, Sherlock looked into Moriarty's black eyes and understood.

This had never been about England. Or about Mycroft. Or even about a game.

This had always been about Sherlock.

Moriarty had been convinced from the start that he would eventually kill his brother to save everybody else. He had been convinced he would burn his bones without a second thought, just like he had almost done.

If he didn't –

If he didn't, and they only send Moriarty back to Hell, there was a chance he would come back. A chance. Not a certainty. Maybe he would be stuck there for years; maybe he wouldn't even want to come back, not after Sherlock had won the game.

Because saving Mycroft, succumbing to sentiment, meant winning the game.

Moriarty thought he wouldn't, couldn't do that.

He was wrong. He had always been wrong about Sherlock.

I am not of the opinion that you will go to Hell.

It was time to stop listening to the demon. It was time to start listening to the angel.

Sherlock smiled. Moriarty frowned, and it almost made Sherlock laugh, because finally there was an expression on Mycroft's face he recognized.

"Sam" he inquired calmly, "would you do me the favour of exorcising this demon?"

"Of course" he answered, "It's my pleasure".

He cleared his throat and began reciting the exorcism.

"Regna terrae, cantate Deo,
psallite Domino'
qui fertis super caelum
caeli ad Orientem
Ecce dabit voci Suae
vocem virtutis,
tribuite virtutem Deo..."

Moriarty screamed. Mycroft's body convulsed. Black smoke escaped through his mouth.

Sherlock moved forward unconsciously, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned around to meet Cas' eyes.

Finally the smoke left through the ceiling and Mycroft collapsed. Castiel let go of Sherlock's arm and the consulting detective hastened to his brother's side. John kneeled beside him only a moment later. He took Mycroft's pulse and sighed. He nodded.

Sherlock let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"You alright?" Dean inquired, and Sherlock needed a moment to understand that he meant him.

"Yes" he said, "yes, of course".

"Why did you do it?" the elder Winchester asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad we don't have to hide a body, but still – you seemed dead serious when you told John to burn the bones."

"I was" Sherlock answered, his gaze still focused on Mycroft. "But if he had, Moriarty would have won by causing me pain. I won by allowing emotions to cloud my judgement." Realizing that the hunter probably didn't understand his answer, he added, "It's not always a bad thing".

"No" Cas confirmed, kneeling down beside Mycroft too, "It isn't".

Sam and Dean didn't say anything – Sherlock suspected that they did so not because of his answer, but because of Castiel's reaction; he didn't care either way – and the consulting detective looked at the former angel, waiting for –

He didn't really know what he was waiting for. John had already confirmed Mycroft was alive, so –

Cas smiled. "He is going to be okay. He just needs rest". He paused for a moment before continuing, "And a lot of tea".

And all of a sudden they were laughing. Sherlock didn't know why – but it felt good. He could hear Sam and Dean trying to catch their breaths right behind him, John was shaking next to him, Cas' pale face was flushed, and he couldn't stop himself.

Their laughter was interrupted when a voice croaked, "Sherlock?"

"Mycroft!" he exclaimed, for once not caring to hide the worry or relief in his voice.

The elder Holmes – his brother – opened his eyes.

"He is gone" he announced, his voice shaking.

"We know – "

"I was awake – sometimes – I think he wanted me awake now and then – when he – when he killed the Minister of Foreign Affairs –" Mycroft took a deep breath and when he resumed, his voice shook even more than before "When he played games with you".

"You shouldn't talk" John stated calmly, once again taking Mycroft's pulse.

"We should get him to bed" he added. Immediately, Mycroft grabbed Sherlock's wrist. Unaccustomed to such a display of trust in him, the consulting detective needed a moment to assure him "It's all fine. I am staying".

Mycroft nodded and closed his eyes.

Sherlock, John and the hunters brought him to bed in Sherlock's room. The elder Holmes fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"I'll watch over him" John said determinedly. Sherlock wanted to protest, but the doctor waved him away.

"You haven't slept in days. Take my bed. I'll call you if anything happens".

Sherlock supposed he could always sneak back into the room later. John was sure to fall asleep within the next hour anyway. Sleep was the last thing on his mind. Not after a night like this.

Sam and Dean passed out on the sofa not ten minutes later.

Cas looked at Sherlock.

"Sherlock – "

"Yes?"

"I know we are supposed to rest – but you didn't finish your experiment yesterday".

Sherlock smiled and led the way to the kitchen. They could sleep once everything had gone back to normal, or as normal as their lives could be.

The others slept through the night; Sherlock checked on Mycroft on John – the one fast asleep on the bed, the other in the chair – regularly.

He let Anthea that all was well, and could have sworn she started crying as she hung up.

Mycroft was the first one to wake up the next morning.

Sherlock had been waiting for his bedroom door opening since the sun came up. About an hour later, it happened.

Mycroft slowly made his way out of the bedroom, clutching at the wall.

Sherlock quickly took his arm; Cas came to his aid.

"John is still asleep" Mycroft mumbled.

"As you should be" Sherlock answered sternly, and his brother gave him a half-smile.

"I'd rather have a cup of tea".

"See?" Cas asked excitedly, and Sherlock flashed him a smile before they helped Mycroft into the kitchen and the former angel enthusiastically started to make tea.

He purposefully turned his back to the brothers to give them some privacy.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, for once unsure what to say. He was taken aback when Mycroft cleared his throat and said, "Thank you".

"You're welcome".

"No" Mycroft shook his head. "You could have killed Moriarty. You chose not to; you chose to save my life. It wasn't – it wasn't what I would have done."

"I am aware" Sherlock said, his voice neutral. There was no need to explain; there was no need to apologize. He knew his brother, and he knew he regretted giving Moriarty the information, and it was enough simply because it had to be.

Mycroft quickly took his hand and squeezed it before taking the cup of tea Cas offered him with a smile.

They drank their tea in silence until John called out "Sherlock?" in a panicked voice, waking up Sam and Dean.

And then there was Mycroft trying to thank them and offering them even more money than Anthea had promised and Dean looking at Sherlock and declining the money as well as the thanks, much to Sam's surprise, and Cas standing around saying nothing and John shooting the former angel and the consulting detective glares because he realized they hadn't slept.

The hunters said goodbye after a last cup of tea, even though John made them try to stay.

While Dean was busy telling him that, yes, "he wasn't looking forward to the flight", but they wanted to get home, and Mycroft called Anthea to book them tickets, Cas looked at Sherlock and held out his hand.

"It was a pleasure to meet you".

Sherlock took the offered hand and shook it.

"You too."

They smiled at each other, no other words needed, and walked up to the others.

"Thank you" Sherlock said.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, well – all part of the job, you know".

"Don't hesitate calling us if anything seems weird" Sam added.

John laughed. "I assume you mean "weirder than usual. Don't worry, we will".

"And if you should ever stumble on a real case, I would be happy to help out" Sherlock said, and Dean chuckled.

"You'd be surprised, but it happened already. Anyway, time to go".

Cas was the last one to leave.

He turned around at the door, looking at the three of them.

"You are a lucky man, Sherlock Holmes. Never forget that".

"So are you" Sherlock replied, honestly, and Cas' eyes sparkled.

"I suppose I am. My Father works in mysterious ways".

Then he was gone and John sighed.

"Should I ask?"

"You can" Sherlock answered, "but I don't think you would believe me."

"After all I have seen in the past few days, I doubt it..." John trailed off and looked at Mycroft. He cleared his throat.

"But, really, let's talk about this later. I'll tell Mrs. Hudson that everything is alright and that we – yes, we, Sherlock – will clean the floor".

He went downstairs.

Mycroft looked at his brother.

"Your friend is not the subtlest of man".

"He never has been".

"True. Sherlock – " Mycroft searched for the right words, now that they were alone.

"Thank you for not giving up on me".

"You didn't give up on me either" Sherlock replied. "You wouldn't have kept my phone for a whole year otherwise".

They smiled at each other.

It wasn't much, it wasn't a tearful reconciliation, but it was enough.

Even if Moriarty came back. Even if they still had to prove Mr. Melville's secretary was innocent. Even if they would still bicker, Sherlock calling Mycroft out on his weight, Mycroft forcing Sherlock to take cases.

They had taken on a demon, they could take on everything else.

Fighting together, like brothers were meant to be.

Author's note: Reviews because this is the last chapter? And as a birthday wish. Sorry for the emotional blackmail – okay, not sorry, but trying to be.

Anyway, not that this story is finished, I wish you all a wonderful day,

Hekate.