A/n: Wow, I got really good feedback for this so far. Thanks guys :) It's my birthday today so I'm staying up late doing another chapter. It's too hot to sleep anyway :(

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Sherlock was sure he was dreaming, that it was all some sort of sick joke. He was prepared to fake die for John and the others but live with Moriarty for the rest of his life? Could he actually do that? Would he? Even if he did kill himself, it wouldn't change anything. Moriarty would still tell the snipers to kill John, as well as Lestrade and Mrs Hudson.

He sat on the roof watching London as the sun set, his mind working fast. If Mycroft was to blame then surely he could help? He was the British Government after all. Surely he could hide everyone until Moriarty was out of the picture?

He pulled out his phone, and dialled his brothers number. After two rings, Mycroft picked up.

"Mycroft Holmes."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. Did his brother even care? No, of course he didn't. It wasn't affecting him was it?

"Mycroft," he muttered, "I need to talk to you."

He heard Mycroft groan and felt himself getting angry. His brother was meant to protect him, look after him, not sell him out to some psychopath who was now threatening to kill everyone that mattered to him.

"Sherlock, I'm busy at the moment. I have a meeting with -"

"I don't care, Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted, cutting his brother off, "You don't know what sort of trouble I'm in right now."

"Knowing you Sherlock, it's nothing important," Mycroft snapped.

"Moriarty, Mycroft. You know him? Of course you do, you sold me out to him."

Silence, and then, "What about him?"

Sherlock sighed, "He's going to kill everyone I care about, Mycroft, unless I go and live with him. Be his pet as he put it."

"What's he said?"

"He said I have a choice, I can either go live with him and help him bring you down, or I can run away. In which case, John and everyone else will die."

More silence.

"What are you going to do?" Mycroft asked finally.

"What can I do, Mycroft? I can't let John and the others die, I just can't. I'm sorry."

"So, you're going with him?"

Sherlock slammed the phone down, swearing under his breath. He climbed onto the ledge and let his feet hang over, swinging them slightly whilst he watched the people down below. They didn't have this problem, they didn't have to choose between their family and their friends. Or if they did, it wasn't life or death with them. No, they lived their little boring lives. Something Sherlock was jealous of right now.

He was so prepared to fake die and now Moriarty had changed the game leaving him in doubt and confusion. Molly was probably down there, wondering what was going on.

He picked up his phone and sent her a quick text, apologising for wasting her time and telling her he was thankful, then he chucked his phone over the ledge.

The cool air cleared his head slightly and he let out a small sigh. Maybe he could get close to Jim and then kill him, lull him into a false sense of security and then rip him apart. The idea of getting John's gun and holding it to Moriarty's head made him smile. If only he could do that.

He stayed on the roof for several hours, just listening to the traffic and life of London. It was only when the sky turned dark and cold that he got up and headed home. John was probably panicking and Scotland Yard had probably broken into 221 B again, but right now all Sherlock cared about was Moriarty and how he could bring the bastard down.

Reaching 221B, Sherlock saw that the street was lined with police cars, as well as the sleek black car belonging to his brother. This was all he needed, added attention. He was just about to turn around and head off in another direction when he heard someone - John - call his name.

"Sherlock! Where have you been?"

He spun round slowly, "I had stuff to sort out."

"Don't lie. Mycroft told us everything. We know about Moriarty and what he's making you do. You can't seriously be thinking about going with him, can you?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Mycroft had no right to tell you that."

John walked up to him, his eyes wide with worry, "Sherlock, you can't. He'll kill you."

"He'll kill you if I don't, and what did you say? friends protect each other? well here I am, protecting you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson."

John opened his mouth, shook his head, and shut it again.

"Oh yeah, I need your gun," Sherlock added, "Precaution and all that."

"My gun?"

"Yes, I need it. You don't think I'm just going to go with Moriarty, do you? I have a plan."

He hated lying to John, but he couldn't tell him the truth. He needed to go, and he wanted John to be ok with that, or as ok as you can be in this situation. He also knew that John would run to Mycroft and Lestrade which would just delay everything and cause problems. So, instead he put on his most blank-uncaring face and prayed to god that John would believe his lies.

John sighed, and reached into his back pocket where the gun was currently hiding. He pulled it out and after a moments hesitation, passed it over to Sherlock, who quickly stuffed it into his coat.

"You will be careful, won't you?" John murmured, looking down at the ground.

"I'll try," he smiled, "I need to go now."

"You can't. They're all waiting for you inside, Mycroft, Lestrade, even Mrs Hudson is worried," John said quickly, looking up at Sherlock, "You can't just - go."

"I have too," Sherlock sighed, pulling John in to a hug, "The sooner I go, the sooner I can come back."

He said those words to comfort John but really he was the one that needed comforting. He wasn't even sure if he would come back, or if this truly was the last time he would see and touch John. The thought of never hearing John laugh, never annoying him with his deductions, never having him by his side made Sherlock's stomach flip over, and he felt tears run down his face into John's hair.

John pulled back slightly, and gazed up at him, "Sherlock, are you crying?"

"N-no, I'm fine," Sherlock sniffed, hastily wiping away the tears, "I need to go, John. Say goodbye to Mrs Hudson and Lestrade for me."

John nodded, his own eyes slightly red, "Good luck, I'll be waiting."

Sherlock smiled, pulled his coat up, checked the gun was still in place, and then turned into the night. He kept walking, step by step, until he had rounded the corner, and then he fell against the wall and broke down properly.