He has had to do it so many times before. He has had to stand down, give-up… surrender… How did it come to this? How was there no other way out? Surely, he could have outsmarted Magnussen. Surely, he could have found another way.
None had come to mind.
He couldn't find a way out.
As the chopper hovers and his brother- oh, dear brother mine- desperately pleas with the special ops teams, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock looks back. What he sees breaks his heart.
I will burn the heart out of you.
A whisper upon his lips at moment the word cannot be heard, "John."
In a last attempt, a last request, for mercy, Sherlock Holmes falls to his knees.
"Oh, Sherlock… What have you done?"
He hears them, but he does not retain anymore. He has lost his chance. He has lost this final chance at starting his life over again. Everything has changed. John with his lying wife. Mycroft, with his 'hidden' affairs. Mummy and Father, their love so sparingly given… His life was never going to go back to the way it was… It was never going to be "the same".
Charles Augustus Magnussen.
(Richard) James Moriarty.
William Sherlock Scott Holmes.
Murderers… criminals… geniuses…
Be careful, Mycroft…
His coat is taken from him as the soldiers approach and disarm. John is led away; he is in shock, but still he fights to stay by Sherlock's side. Dear John… He never deserved someone like him. He never deserved to be loved and appreciated. Sherlock Holmes never deserved John Watson.
The wind is dying down, and the noise is quieting. Magnussen's body lies eight feet away, blood pooling around his head, brain matter littering the patio floor. Footsteps approach him, and his hands have been restrained. He knows those steps, and he knows those shoes.
Something in him gives up. Something lets go, and he falls prostrate at the feet of his brother.
I am a murderer.
Mycroft stands still above his younger's form. The Ice Man, his heart is melting, and burning…
"I told him what I am telling you… I will BURN the HEART out of you. Period. Do you think you can stop me, Mr. Mycroft Holmes?! I have an empire. An empire greater than your own… Do you think you can handle that?"
Neither Holmes could… They had failed. Fallen has the great empire of the mighty Mycroft Holmes. Fallen has the rogue knight named Sherlock Holmes…
The brothers remain in their stances for minutes and minutes, which to John seem like hours. One year, or roundabout should he say, one year he has had his friend back. One year of loathing and hatred and disgust and pain and sorrow and misunderstanding and hurt and pining and want, one year in which John Watson dreamed to have Sherlock back. Dreamed to be with his friend- "you are [a couple]"- by his side as they faced the World together!
"What happened to you? While you were away?" he asked while sitting in his chair in Baker Street one evening after Sherlock's release from hospital.
The lack of a reply was not a surprise to John. So, he waited. He waited seconds, minutes… when two hours had gone by, he had given up. Rising from his chair, he grabbed his cold cup of tea and went to the kitchen. Sherlock would tell him if and when he was ready. Sighing, John rinsed his cup and went to go upstairs. The clearing of a throat startled him from his monotony.
"I died."
With that, his friend lifted himself from the couch and retired to his room.
John was speechless.
Now, standing with his friend bowed at the feet of the "giant of Britain", John could no longer deny the words from that night. He had wanted to ask more, had been meaning to ask for elaboration… those scars had haunted his mindscape since. What had happened to you, Sherlock?
Tonight, he saw.
Those eyes, they spoke volumes. The entirety of the human language could not have more clearly expressed the love and devotion that THE Sherlock Holmes has for John Watson… And it scares John. Not even Mary could understand… of course she couldn't.
What now, John thinks amongst the chaos of his mind and the outer world. His mind is fritzing and blanking and non-understanding of the change of circumstance.
The Game is over…
Isn't that what Sherlock had said one night not long ago? With that finality in his voice, John could not accept the end of their road together. It shouldn't have changed. Things weren't supposed to change. Taking in a deep breath, the doctor/soldier relaxed his body to portray acceptance of his restraint. However, as soon as the operatives let loose, John had bolted to his friend.
Falling over the body, he lifted his eyes to the man who would inevitably decide their fate. Pleading, one last time, he needed this. He could not lose Sherlock once more.
In this moment, the Heart that Moriarty had promised to burn had realized itself in its entirety… James Moriarty was not burning one man. He burned an army.