"You should be dead," Sebastian Moran spat at Sherlock.
"That view has been expressed many times, Mr Moran," Sherlock said.
"Shut up!" Moran shouted. "Jim Moriarty died to kill you. And now it's up to me to finish the job."
"You know I can't let you do that."
"Then you know I don't care."
Sherlock Holmes lifted a gun to his head. "Would you really deny yourself the pleasure of killing me yourself. I mean, your employer died for me. And I have killed so many of your people."
Sebastian stared at the other man. "You wouldn't," he spat.
"Do you really want to try me?"
Sebastian Moran raised his gun to point it at the other man. He pulled the trigger. Sherlock Holmes had started to move before the trigger had been pulled but it hadn't been enough. He was knocked to the ground, clutching the bullet wound in his abdomen. Sebastian Moran walked slowly towards the other man. "You won't deny me this pleasure, Mr Holmes." Sherlock's gun was a little too far away for him to reach without letting go of the wound meaning that the pressure would be released and he would lose substantial amount of blood.
Moran pulled out a knife. "I'm going to enjoy this," he said, "And when I'm done with this I'll get Lestrade. And then I'll get poor Mrs Hudson. And then finally, I'll come for John. I won't kill him quickly. I'll make it long; I'll have him beg for death."
Sherlock let go of the wound and reached for his gun, he could just reach it with his fingertips. He pulled it back and raised it, quickly firing it at Sebastian Moran. Head, lungs, heart. They all hit their mark. "You became reckless," he muttered, standing up with difficulty, gripping the wall. It was quite fitting really that they were in Moriarty's old flat. Sherlock staggered to the door. What now? Sherlock knew he had approximately six minutes before he passed out from blood loss. He picked up his phone and thought for a moment. He'd call John and certainly it was safe to now, Sebastian Moran had been the last of the network of spies, but he couldn't. Inexplicably, Sherlock Holmes was scared. So Sherlock called his brother.
John didn't know what to expect when he received a call from Mycroft told him to come to the hospital. "Bloody power complex," he muttered as he limped into the hospital. Mycroft refused to explain what was going on when he met John. After a while John gave up trying to pry any information from him.
John followed Mycroft to the hospital room. Mycroft stayed outside while John went in. "Oh," he said quietly when he saw the unconscious man. John couldn't describe the feelings that overwhelmed him so he clenched his jaw and limped out.
"John," Mycroft called, sighing slightly.
When John got back to the flat he sat in his armchair and turned that damn note over and over in his fingers, not sure what to do or say. He just needed to clear his head, he told himself. He just needed to clear his head.