Richard didn't go very far. He was waiting for John out in the hall, back at the bench again. John slowed his walk down, nearly stopped when Richard looked up at him and grinned in the most disconcerting and boyish way possible. "Let's go to the roof," Richard said. John jerked back a little, getting a full dose of memory of Jim Moriarty. Richard didn't seem to care, he grabbed John's wrist and dragged him up to the roof.

John wanted to protest that he didn't want to go where Sherlock jumped, that it was too soon, that he was afraid of heights or it was against his religion or something. The only thing that came out of John's mouth was air. Richard was a force of nature. The second John was about to say something, Richard would turn around and beam at John, or cast him the saddest expression, or let out a pitiful sound. Everything Richard did was perfectly calculated to keep John from being able to protest or pull away.

Maybe at first glance the Moriarty twins didn't seem too much alike, but John was sure that Richard could get anyone to do anything just as well if not better as Jim Moriarty. John also thought that it would be possibly even more impossible to tell if Richard were lying. Richard had an earnestness in every move he made, even when he was expressing two opposite emotions only seconds apart. John wasn't even sure that Richard wasn't feeling two different emotions close together. Honestly, John was torn between a certain giddiness that Jim Moriarty was actually dead, and a crushing sadness that Sherlock was dead as well.

They arrived at the roof and Richard let go for John's hand. He dropped all pretense of happiness or sadness and just became very blank. He started walking around, search for something. He didn't have to search for long. "My brother died here," Richard said, standing next to a blood stain on the roof. There was so much blood, as well as brain matter and bits of bone and hair.

"It's really him then?" John asked.

Jim smiled, but it was at best pained. "It's hard to believe, isn't it?" Richard asked, moving to sit cross legged on the ground by the stain. "A part of me thinks that Jim will pop up later."

"And you can't tell if you want it to be true or not," John said. He didn't observe people like Sherlock, but that didn't mean that he couldn't read the signs.

"I did any and everything I could to separate us," Richard admitted. "He wanted to keep me, like a pet I think. Our parents were… well, better not to talk about the family, really. I was possibly the closest thing Jim would ever have to a friend. I love him because I have to, Dr. Watson… but I was also his first toy and I forget that I have scars from before he figured out how to hide his work." There was a terrible hardness in Richard's voice.

"I'm surprised he didn't keep you close," John admitted.

"I was one of his aliases," Richard said. "It's great, having a man living two different lives with two different bodies. Besides that, Jim didn't like being known. He worked very hard to make sure that while I continued to get work, that I would never get a lot of recognition for it," Richard said.

"Oh yeah, awful," John said, rolling his eyes. It suddenly just hit him all over again what Richard did.

"I'm sorry," Richard said. "I seriously am."

"Everyone thinks Sherlock's a fake," John snarled.

"So what?" Richard asked.

"So what?" John snapped.

"Everyone thinks that I my brother is me," Richard said. He sighed, propped his chin on his palm. "Dr. Watson, you're making the same mistake that my brother did… You take away a man's good name, and his career is over. That's the rule right? But that's not true at all. Sometimes it is true, but a person's life isn't over. I don't know why Mr. Holmes did what he did, but I'm sure my brother had a hand in it. I'm also sure that if he'd stayed alive that he could have beaten it, especially his my brother blew his brains out," Richard said.

"You really think he can just come back from this kind of blow?" John asked.

"Better too, stronger, because he'll finally be seen as he is. Sherlock Holmes is never going to be a hero," Richard said. "He's not that kind of man. My brother complained about Mr. Holmes being on the side of the angels, but Jim seems to have forgotten the idea of the anti-hero."

"You talk like Sherlock's just a part you can play," John said.

"Oh, don't be insulted, that's how I see everything," Richard said. He smiled, and it was very blank. "We're all actors, projecting what we want the world to see and trying to play a part we create for ourselves. Our humiliation comes when our act is exposed, when we're caught acting. To quote the bard: all the world's a stage, and the people merely players."

"I'm still not convinced you aren't Moriarty," John said.

"You don't have to believe me," Richard said, pushing himself up to be standing. "Jim's my big brother. You think anyone walks away from that sane and whole?" he asked with a laugh. "You should see me when I've got no one to act for."

"What happens?" John asked.

John hated what he saw on Richard's face. It was nothing like Moriarty. The look on Richard's face was so troubled and tentative. "I really don't know," Richard admitted. "Please… don't try to see it."

"I don't plan to ever see you again after this," John said.

"That's fine," Richard said. "Though, you should come to Jim's funeral."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I don't know… to spit on his grave?" Richard asked with a shrug.

"You're out of your tree," John said, shaking his head. He still had no idea what Richard actually felt about Jim Moriarty.

"Completely possible… say, do you know if Dr. Hooper is seeing anyone?"

"Wait, what?"

"I'm thinking of asking her out… later, not over my brother's dead body, that would be creepy."

"Because going out with the woman who did his autopsy isn't at all odd," John snorted.

"Yeah… but she's really cute isn't she?" Richard asked with a grin. Like every other expression Richard pulled, it was so genuine looking.

"No a good idea to go out with her. Did you hear that the last guy she dated ended up dead?" John asked, smirking. Richard punched him. "Ow, that actually hurt."

"I'm small, I'm not pathetic," Richard said, rolling his eyes, but he was grinning. "Do you think she'll compare us both?"

"Is there anyone who doesn't?" John asked.

Richard sighed heavily. "Not anymore… no," he said quietly.