The bells chimed, their song rang across the city as two men stood on the kingdom's wall.

"Just jump already, you know you lost. Just jump, for me, please!" Moriarty impatiently tried to persuade Sherlock. Sherlock snatched Moriarty and held him over the edge of the wall.

"You're insane," Sherlock snarled at his nemesis.

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty's arms swung around in circles as Sherlock shook him. "Alright, how about a little incentive? Your friends will die if you don't."

"John?"

"Not just John, everyone."

"Lestrade?"

"Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Three archers, three arrows, three victims. There's no stopping them now... Except for you jumping."

Sherlock set Moriarty back on the wall and stared into the distance, thinking.

"Oh look," Moriarty smiled as he watched people walk out of the castle, "it seems you'll be gaining an audience soon."

"Now, Regina, when was the last time you saw him?" Andrew inquired, his pale blue eyes staring straight into Regina's brown eyes.

"Just after dinner," Regina answered, "we did the dishes and then he went up to his room to do his homework. I checked on him an hour later and he was gone."

"I'll need a look at his room."

"Of course."

"Come along, Graham!" Andrew smiled as he walked out of the department, "we finally have a case."

"You can torture me, kill me, whatever you want with me, but it won't stop them from releasing those arrows. Your only three friends in the world will die unless -"

"Unless I kill myself," Sherlock finished Moriarty's sentence, "complete your story... And I die a disgrace."

"Well, of course," Moriarty responded, "that's the point of this." He smiled as Sherlock stepped closer to the edge, "I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers, I'm certainly not going to do it."

Sherlock paused in thought as he looked over the crowd now forming beneath him. Slowly a smile formed across his face as he began to laugh.

"What? What is it? What did I miss?" Moriarty impatiently asked. Sherlock turned to look at Moriarty.

"You're not going to do it? So the killers can be called off then, there's a recall code, or a pattern. I don't have to die if I've got you," Sherlock circled around Moriarty like a hawk around a corpse.

"Oh. You think you could make me give the order? You think you could make me do that?"

"Yes, so do you."

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the king's horses couldn't make me do a thing if I didn't want to do it already."

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepare to do anything. Prepare to burn. Prepare to do what others won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I will not disappoint you."

"No, you talk big, but you're just words. You're ordinary, you're on the side of the fairies."

"I may be on the side of the fairies, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."

"No, you're not," Moriarty spoke up after a few moments of silent thinking, "I see, you're not ordinary. You're me. You're me! Thank you!" Moriarty shook Sherlock's hand, "bless you, Sherlock Holmes. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. Well good luck with that." Moriarty quickly pulled out a knife and stabbed himself in the heart. Sherlock jumped back in shock as Moriarty's bleeding corpse fell down onto the stone wall, the right arm dangled over the edge as the hand released the knife and it fell down to the grassy clearing below. Staring at the corpse at his feet, the clever detective soon realized what he had to do. He had to save his friends. He had to fall.

Andrew paced around Henry's room, paying close attention to every little detail. The blue walls, the indentation in the carpet from a backpack, the empty slot in a book shelf.

"Are you missing any food?" The sheriff questioned as he scanned over the carpet where the backpack was.

"No, not even a granola bar," Regina answered, trying very hard to remain calm and to not snap at Andrew again.

"It's going to be alright, Regina," Graham put an arm around Regina in attempts to comfort her, "we'll find him."

"Of course you will."

"What book did Henry keep right here?" Andrew pointed at the empty spot on the shelf.

"It was... hm... I don't know," Regina looked at Andrew in confusion.

"Graham, stay with Regina. I'm going to take a look around town," Andrew ordered his deputy as he left the room. Already the excitement wore off, he knew Henry ran away and that he had every intention of returning. Why did he run? Where did he run off to? Which book did he take with him? Obviously it was important, all the other books were left behind and his backpack isn't that big. Out of all of the books he could have taken with him, why did Henry take that particular book? Getting into the police car, Andrew smiled to himself as he put the key in the ignition and turned it. With every question the excitement was returning.

"Perhaps I'll buy him some coco when he gets back, this is the best thing he's ever done," Andrew commented as he began his search around Storybrooke for the ten year old boy.

"Sherlock!" A voice shouted over the crowd at Sherlock as he stood at the edge of the wall. He recognized that voice instantly, it was John. The archer is probably watching both of them, ready to kill John on the spot if Sherlock stepped down. It's now or never.

"Forgive me, John," Sherlock sighed as he leaned forward and fell off the wall. The wind rushed past him as his arms swung instinctively in a circle as he fell. This is the end. A loud thud silenced the crowd. John stood there, frozen, in shock from what he just saw. When it sunk in, he knew what he needed to do. He had to get to Sherlock. Weaving through the crowd, he hastily reached his fallen friend and stared at the still body before him. A rock was covered in blood, John turned the body over and stared at it. He felt cold, every minute seemed like an hour. He wept as he shook the body.

"Please, Sherlock, wake up!" John shouted, "wake up!" Sherlock didn't move, he just laid in John's arms like a raggedy doll. This had to be a nightmare, it couldn't possibly be real. The crowd gently prodded Sherlock away from John, an arm wrapped around him. This wasn't a dream.

Sherlock is dead.

Andrew stared into the night as he drove. There wasn't any other clues on Henry's whereabouts, not even the sign gave him any clues. He was just about to get out of the car and cross the town border when the radio went off.

"Henry's back," Graham's voice came through the radio, "a stranger named Emma brought him back."

"What happened?" Andrew asked, trying very hard not to sound agitated.

"Apparently he ran off to Boston and found Emma. He convinced her to take him home."

Something wasn't right. It still bothered him. Why did Henry go through all the trouble of running away to Boston just to convince a stranger to take him home? Only Henry could answer that. Andrew turned the car around and returned to Regina's house. Finally something new to do.

John stood before a gravestone with the name "Sherlock Holmes" engraved in it. It still seemed so unreal. How could his best friend be dead? How could he take his own life?

"Please, just one more miracle, Sherlock. One more, for me," John shakily begged, staring at the grave. "Don't be dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it, stop this." Rubbing his eyes, he worked hard to fight back the tears. He knew it would never happen, nothing would bring Sherlock back entirely. His best friend was gone. Straightening himself up, he walked away from the grave like a brave soldier marching from a battlefield.

From the shade of trees, Sherlock stood in silence as he watched John walk away. This is the end.