So here we are again

It's always such a pleasure

James Moriarty had been his life. He needed him, his brain was rotting, everything was terrible and he was BORED. As much as he hated to admit it, Sherlock missed his consulting criminal. He sat on the bed of his cheap hotel room, picked up his phone and clutched it to his chest, closed his eyes and let the memories of their special something wash through his brain.

Remember how you tried to kill me twice

Murder had brought him to Jim's attention, and suicide had taken him away. Staying Alive. Right. What was the point? Sherlock's fingers brushed through the few texts sent between himself and Jim. "I shouldn't have stopped you." he texted him. Sentiment. It was always found on the losing side. Was this losing? "I thought that your death meant that I won, Jim. So why do I feel like this?"

Oh, how we laughed and laughed

Except I wasn't laughing

If there was a God, he was laughing now. Laughing his fucking arse off at the sight of Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, arrogant and smug, staring brokenly at his phone and wishing for what might have been. "There were so many more games we could have played."

I used to want you dead

Now I only want you gone

Except he didn't want him gone, not really. He wanted him back. He wanted and prayed and hoped and knew that there was no chance of his Jim coming back, no chance of a second chance. You never got a second chance to make a first impression, wasn't that the old saying? The impression had been made, Sherlock got it, it was time to stop playing games. The flirting was over, Sherlock, Daddy had had enough now. So he ended it. Permanently.

Goodbye, my only friend

Oh, did you think I meant you?

That would be funny if it weren't so sad

It was sad, really. This man, this spider, he was going to kill everyone that Sherlock had cared about. John Lestrade Mrs. Hudson John Lestrade Mrs. Hudson John Lestrade Mrs. Hudson- their lives weren't worth his. He was so much more, the only one who understood him, the only one who- Well. Too late for that line of thinking now, isn't it, Sherlock? You should've told him when you had the chance. You really are a sociopath, aren't you?

You're someone else's problem

Now I only want you gone

Sherlock knew that there wasn't an afterlife. He wasn't stupid. But the thought of Jim replacing him, being someone else's problem... He slammed the bedside table with his fist. "Dammit, Jim. You said it was the final problem, the final one, but it can't be. We have to have another problem and another and another because you can't leave me, I can't do this by myself." He reached out blindly, knocking over his glass of water on the bedside table. His fingers curled around the Browning LA41 that he had placed there earlier. "So I'm solving the problem for us." Sherlock Holmes calmly placed the gun in his mouth and smiled.

Gone.

THE END