Irene had never taken much thought to what it would feel like to be shot. Throughout her days as a dominatrix, she'd always inflicted pain upon others, never asking them to hurt her. But in those moments before the bullet was extracted from her body, she knew what physical pain really was. It wasn't anything like she'd ever imagined; the bullet must've been a decent size. Or maybe the fact that Sherlock wasn't right there holding her hand was the real pain. Oh, you're an idiot. Stop being such a mush and get over yourself. You're lying on a damn operating table for Christ's sake. Get some dignity. The small voice in the back of her head was loud now, and she wasn't going to ignore it. She smiled inwardly, letting the anesthetics run through her veins. She didn't even feel herself float to sleep.

When Irene finally came to, she couldn't remember anything that had happened after hearing the window shatter. The one thing that she knew she'd always remember was waking up to see John's face and not Sherlock's. Of course, this made her fear for the worst. John had done his best to calm her down- "We don't want your machines going off and causing a scene with the nurses"- but she wouldn't rest until she saw Sherlock. Finally, John texted him, and the response was given in less than a minute. Irene's breathing went back to normal for the moment, giving John some time to talk to her.

"He's not going to stay with you at Baker Street while you recover."

"Why not?" Her voice was still groggy with sleep.

John stared at her, all disheveled. This wasn't the Irene he'd come to know. The last time he'd seen her like that was over a year ago, after she'd faked her death the first time. A day later she'd shown up in their flat in Sherlock's bed. Now, with no makeup, pieces of hair flying out of her up-do, and clad in a hospital gown, John realized that Irene was just a normal person. And he could finally see what Sherlock saw in her: Strength. "Revenge has become one of his top priorities."

"Obviously," Irene muttered. He would never choose her over anything else.

"He loves you, you know."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't love."

"No. But miracles never cease." John glanced out the window.

Irene sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe I should move back to America."

John chuckled. "No. Sherlock won't be long. Moran will try again. And soon. Anger drives a person. Sherlock's behavior is proof of that. Moran's hurt the one thing he cares about most- you."

"Well, Dr. Watson, I'm afraid Mr. Moran isn't one to be messed with."

"Neither is Mr. Holmes. I'd advise you take it easy. Recover for a few days in the hospital and I'm sure it will be all over by then."

Irene's mouth dropped open, gaping. "I'm not about to sit here and let Sherlock kill someone without me witnessing it!"

"Ms. Adler. Just relax. You're not exactly in shape for bad-guy hunting right now." John stood, patting her knee. Irene nodded her agreement, and he grabbed his coat. "I'll come back and visit you in a short while. Rest up."

"Where are you going?"

"To find Sherlock. He's going to need all the help he can get." John smiled softly, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Irene closed her eyes, hearing the door click shut. Sighing, she willed herself back to sleep.

The view from the roof of St. Bart's was extraordinary. You could see over most of downtown London; it was beautiful at night. However, it was just as beautiful during the day. There were cars moving everywhere, people walking along the streets and into buildings, and birds flying from rooftop to rooftop. It was somehow peaceful up there, with all the commotion.

But Sherlock had a different way of looking at it. He was familiar of how it felt on the way down from there. He knew of the gut-wrenching feeling of giving up everything just to save the people you loved. He was never very fond of sentiment, but somehow inside he had known this was the way to do it. He'd witnessed a suicide that day, one that would haunt him forever. Sherlock had seen the humor in Moriarty's eyes as he'd pulled the trigger. But he'd also seen one other thing: fear. Moriarty had been afraid that Sherlock had devised another plan to make sure that his loved ones weren't killed. In reality, he had, but not the way Moriarty had thought. Sherlock had had to take rigorous precautions to ensure safety of Watson, Mrs. Hudson, and his brother. The one thing Sherlock knew was that he'd never meet another human being quite like Moriarty- someone just like himself, but evil. Even Moran wasn't a match for Sherlock; he was just an assassin. He wasn't intellectually profound, nor had he done anything quite as remarkable as Moriarty. It bothered Sherlock that he'd let the man who was so below him hurt one of the people he loved most. He knew it was wrong to make Moran's demise his priority, but something had to be done about this. Irene would hate him, but she'd be fine once Moran was gone. Then all of everyone's problems would be gone.

"How's the view going down?" John's voice seemed to come from a far distance, and Sherlock didn't even bother to turn and face him.

"Quite interesting. If you focus on a particular window, it goes by in flow motion."

"Wonderful." John paused. "Sherlock, you need help."

"No I don't. You're the one who needs help."

"I don't mean mentally. I mean help finding Moran."

"I can do this on my own."

"I know. But when have I ever let you do anything alone?"

Sherlock turned this time, arching an eyebrow at him. "Besides my suicide?"

"Exactly."

There was a silence between. The wind blew slightly, causing both of their jacket collars to pop up. Sherlock's hair rustled, blinding him for a moment. "Is Irene awake?"

"What do you think?"

"How did you know to come up here?"

"You and this rooftop have history." John nodded his head towards the small blood-stain left from Moriarty's accident. The police and the hospital just figured the rain would clean it away, and since no one went on the roof (except for some of the staff for smoking breaks). Both men stared at it, memories flooding their minds.

"Mhm." Sherlock was silent for another few moments. "I know how to kill Moran."

"Oh, really? By getting yourself kidnapped? Smart move, Sherlock. Because that's never been done before."

"I know. That's why I'm doing something totally different. I'm hiring my brother."

"Irene will be pleased to hear that. But are you totally satisfied with it?"

"For the time being. I'm going to schedule a meeting with him about a few more things just to ensure complete safety concerning Irene."

"Which is?"

"That is something you'll have to wait to find out about. I don't want to tell you about something and then it not happen. Mycroft can sometimes be an asshole."

"Irene is dear to him. She holds information that no one else has. Therefore, he just might protect her."

"That's what I'm counting on." Sherlock sighed. "Now, I must go call my brother. I'll meet you back at Baker Street tonight?"

"Of course. The police are there cleaning up right now. They have been all day. I made sure to force Lestrade to give them explicit instructions."

Sherlock nodded, stepping towards the door. "Stay safe, mate."

"You, too." Both men when down the stairs together, silent. When they reached the doors of the hospital, they nodded to each other, going their separate ways.