John's eyes were red and sore when he finally left Sherlock's side. Molly Hooper had stood with him even after Mycroft had left. She looked sad, but solid. John vaguely wondered if she had cried earlier, or if she was just stronger than he'd thought. It didn't matter much. He wasn't ashamed for the pain he felt. It was too real, too new. Seeing Sherlock lying there made John sure he hadn't been dreaming. Sherlock's body was freezing cold, though Molly had cleaned up the blood and closed his eyes. He'd looked like he was sleeping. John chuckled darkly at that thought. That was how he knew Sherlock was really dead. Sherlock didn't sleep.

"Is it him?" that horrible voice asked.

John's head shot up, seeing Richard Brooke sitting on the bench where John had left him before. John breathed through his nose, trying to clear the air way. "Yeah, it's him," John said.

"I'm sorry," Richard said. "I kind of hoped it was a lie… you know… It's Jim's kind of humor."

"Not very funny," John muttered.

"Exactly," Richard said.

"Why are you here?"

"They uh… haven't let me back yet," Richard said awkwardly. "Would you like to see him to?"

John let out a hollow laugh. "What am I going to do with the body of Jim Moriarty?"

"Dr. Watson, please," Richard said, clasping his hands together. "I just… I don't want to go by myself. I don't care if you laugh over his body… but I can't go in there by myself."

John took a step back, thrown by the genuineness in the voice and body of Moriarty. "Okay," John said, looking up when someone came to get them.

"Mr. Brooke?" the nurse asked. "You can see him now."

"Thank you," Richard said with a very pleasant smile. John felt a pull in his gut from seeing it. Great actor indeed.

The nurse took them back to the morgue. It was a familiar place to John. He'd trained there when he'd studied at St. Bart's. He also spent a particular amount of time there with Sherlock. The nurse left them right before the room, and John had to be the one to push open the door. Richard was hesitating, shaking just a bit.

"You okay?" John asked quietly.

Richard shook his head. "Dead things just bother me."

Well then, not like Jim much at all, it seemed. John held the door open after stepping in, letting Richard in after him. They were both greeted with the sight of Molly bent over Jim Moriarty's dead body. She seemed to be carefully fixing his hair, smoothing down the bangs as if she were doing it for a loved one.

"Molly?" John asked. The gasp and clatter that followed was to be expected.

"I'm so sorry!" Molly gasped, picking up the bowl she'd dropped. "I heard someone had come to get him and I just thought how much he hated having his hair messed up. I cleaned Sherlock up, like I do with all the others, and it just seemed wrong not to," she stammered, not looking up and she cleaned up the spilled instruments.

"No, it's fine. Jim would probably like that," Richard said.

Molly looked up from where she was kneeling on the floor and fell back on her bottom, looking stunned. "J-jim!" She stammered, looking between the very alive man and the body she'd been just dealing with.

Richard smiled sadly and walked over. He bent down and gathered the instruments Molly had dropped and settled them back into the bowl they belonged in. He placed the bowl on the table next to his brother's body, then he offered Molly a hand. "Richard," he said. "Jim's brother," he said.

"Oh," Molly said, looking a bit shaken as Richard pulled her up. She dusted herself off, looking down at Jim's body for a moment.

"Did you know him?" Richard asked.

"Yes, I mean, kind of, I…" Molly trailed off. "How?"

"You called him Jim," Richard said with a smile. "It doesn't take a great mind to figure it out," he added, seeming to want to dissuade Molly of the notion that he was his brother.

"Yes we uh… sort of dated," she said.

"Meaning he pretended to be someone else and strung you around for a few weeks until he got bored and ended things," Richard said, his tone dull. Molly winced. John felt like he would have too in her position. Molly had often been treated as second to everyone else. It must have been had to hear how often Moriarty did exactly what he did to her.

"Actually," she said tentatively. "I'm the one who ended it."

"Really?" Richard asked, surprised and suddenly very interested. "And he didn't come after you again?"

"No, why would he?" Molly asked, obviously deflating a bit.

"No one, no one breaks up with my brother," Richard said simply. "He's too possessive to just let people go," he said, sighing. He turned to the body as if seeing it for the first time. He looked really uncomfortable. Really, they did look exactly alike. Richard was scruffier where Jim was more neatly trimmed, but it looked like Richard was looking at his own dead body. "May I borrow a pair of gloves."

"Oh, yes," Molly said, jolting out of her stupor from the sight before John. She bustled over to where the gloves were, handing them to Richard when she returned. He pulled them on expertly and carefully cradled Moriarty's head. Richard slipped his hand under his twin's head, clearly slipping his fingers into the wide open hole that the bullet had left. Richard sighed and slipped the gloves off before grabbing Jim's left arm and lifting it. He ran two fingers across the inside, looking for something.

"I thought you were bothered by dead bodies," John said.

"I'm a very good actor," Richard said and he lay the arm down and started to pull the sheet down. He ran his hands over Jim's torso. "Plus, being uncomfortable and unused to are two very different things." He sighed again and flicked the sheet down, barring the body's left him where a very visible scar was. Richard sighed for a third time and covered the body up to its neck as if tucking Jim Moriarty in for a nap.

"Is it him?" John asked.

"No one would survive such a wound," Richard said. "There's the chicken pox scar on his left arm from when we were three, and the one on the right side of his abdomen, and the scar on his hip from where he impaled himself on the play set when we ten…. This is my brother," he said.

He suddenly stumbled back a bit and John caught him before he felt. "You okay?"

"I am… I'm sorry… I just… I didn't expect him to be real!" Richard gasped, gripping onto John for a minute before pulling himself up.

"Would you like to sit down?" Molly suggested, also nearing Richard. The man just exuded the feeling of someone who needed to be cared for.

"No," Richard said, "Thank you," he added quickly. "You know… one time, for a play I had a part where the character's brother killed himself. I was supposed to discover his body… but I had such a hard time with it. I thought that… I would be happy if Jim were dead… looks like I was wrong," he murmured. He straightened himself up and bent over the dead body, leaning down and pressing a very gentle kiss to Moriarty's forehead. "I love you so much, you complete idiot," Richard said.

He straightened up, and sighed heavily before heading for the door. "I'll go after him," John told Molly.

"I didn't expect…" But she couldn't say it. She didn't need to.

"I know," John said, following after Richard Brooke.