His execution was set for 3:21 AM, seven hours after he was brought home.

It was surreal, in a way, that he was gone, or, at least, nearly so. That in a matter of minutes, they would inject an overdose of sleeping drugs into him and, silently, he would slip away, as quietly as he left before, as quietly as he had came home. Sakura hoped, in the back of her mind, in a tiny reservoir of her heart, that he would attempt to escape, that he would run away, that he would use his amazing powers and flee minutes before she had to enter that needle in his battle-hardened skin.

But she knew that wouldn't happen. He had told her, him self, as they carried him through the overpowering Konoha gates, that he was tired of fighting and killing and being hurt. He was tired of being powerful. He would not escape.

At 3:20 AM, on a clear night with just a sliver of the moon shining, Sakura entered a dank cell that held a criminal that was above S-class. His dark hair was long and loose, lank beside his gaunt face. His eyes, so dark they seemed like hollow voids, held the lurking power of a weapon that she hoped to never see again. With this, the Sharingan would be nearly gone.

"I'm sorry," Sakura whispered, poising the needle at the crook of his elbow, grasping the pale skin and trying not to look at his face, because then it would be too personal, and she would not be able to follow through. Her fingers trembled, her heart beat fast, and she could feel his breath puff softly against her bowed head.

She attempted to keep back tears.

He said nothing, just grabbed her hand, and pushed the needle into his skin.

Maybe it was anticlimactic, or maybe she was expecting more, but instead she got up, staring down as his breathing slowed and stopped, as his body relaxed and slumped over. Her chin, though trembling, was held high, and though her knees felt weak, she walked a steady line when she left that cell just a few minutes later.

Maybe there should have been, but there was no relief. The loathing, anger, hatred, that she felt for him had disappeared, despite his actions, and instead it was replaced with a deep-seeded somberness that probably didn't warrant the occasion. While others would celebrate, Sakura would sit in her small flat and ponder over what she had done.

At 3:22 AM, Uchiha Itachi died—executed by his lover, Uchiha Sakura.