Nothing is mine.
Standing on the rooftop, Sherlock watched John's retreating back. He had been at Sherlock's grave from sunrise to sunset, not speaking, not moving.
There was nothing Sherlock could do to comfort his best friend. Moriarty's men were still at large, ready to do harm if Sherlock didn't stop them.
It was no longer a matter of playing a game. It was a matter of eradicating those who wanted to hurt those Sherlock cared for. It was a matter of proving that he had a heart. It was a matter of realizing who he was.
Sherlock was a man on a mission.
Thank you for reading.