Sherlock couldn't let Moriarty break him. This was it. This was what Moriarty had promised would happen. Everyone in his life was disappearing and it was all his fault. But there was no time to mourn. There was no time to be angry. He had to compete. He had to win.
He pulled his fingers in even tighter. It took every ounce of willpower in his body to not kill him there. Moriarty's face grew paler by the second and his gaze grew less focused. It wouldn't be much longer.
But he couldn't do it. He wasn't like Moriarty. Killing solved nothing. It was elimination of the problem, not the solution.
Sherlock let his hand go and Moriarty stepped back and gasped for air.
"Sherlock," he croaked, "what mercy."
He took in a sharp breath. "Undeserved."
If John had called that meant he had arrived. It wouldn't be long until Moriarty's men found him again.
"One more," Moriarty said as he massaged his bruised neck.
"And then?" Sherlock said.
Moriarty didn't answer right away. He looked with a bemused expression.
That was it. There was no Plan B. Moriarty had counted on Sherlock's sense of compassion. A man who had nothing left to lose was in no position to be told what to do. If John was shot then there was no more leverage. There was nothing left to bargain with and Moriarty knew it.
"I'll kill you myself," he said.
"No you won't," Sherlock said.
Moriarty cocked his head. "Yes I will."
"No," Sherlock said, "you won't."
Moriarty stepped back and shook his head. "John will die. You understand that."
"I do."
"I'll do it now."
Sherlock held his breath to restrain the fear that crept down his spine. This couldn't happen. This wouldn't happen. He could still save one of them.
"Do it," he said quietly.
Moriarty grabbed his phone from his pocket but this time it seemed reluctant. The flourish and show of murder had worn thin.
Sherlock dug further. This was the thread to pull. He stepped closer and closer to Moriarty. "Yes? Will you make the call or shall I?"
Moriarty looked up at Sherlock and put the phone back in his pocket.
"I knew it."
Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as Moriarty's phone disappeared. "What?"
"You and I, we're alike. This whole time I assumed as much."
"Perhaps," he said, "you misjudged me."
Moriarty nodded. "Perhaps I did."
There was a strange glint to his eyes. Moriarty gazed up to the sky as he pulled something from inside his jacket. "You can't save him," he said.
"What?"
Moriarty held out the pistol he'd grabbed from his jacket. "You can't stop them."
Sherlock stepped back just as Moriarty placed the pistol in between his teeth. It took just a second for him to pull the trigger. There was a blast, a boom, and he fell to the ground. A pool of blood formed a halo around his head.
Sherlock stumbled backwards.
"No," he muttered.
He was wrong and now John was in danger.
Sherlock groped at his jacket to get his phone. There was still a chance. He had to save him.
His breath was shallow and wheezing. Sherlock struggled to turn on the phone through the adrenaline that coursed through his mind. How could he have been so off. He'd been outsmarted. It wasn't how this was supposed to end.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
"Answer," he said. "Please."
On the fifth ring John finally answered the phone.
"Sherlock!" he said. "Where are you?"
He could hear the rush of cars passing and the rustle of the wind grazing against the receiver. John was outside. He raced to the edge to look for him.
"I'm on the roof."
"What?"
He ran along the perimeter and looked for him.
"John, stop moving."
"Why?"
"Just stop."
He kept running. He had to find him.
On the East side he finally saw the familiar black jacket eighty feet down. He stood still in the middle of the parking lot. There were buildings on all sides of him. It wasn't safe there.
"John, do you see me?"
He stood at the edge and raised his arm. John looked up and raised his arm back.
"Yes," he said. "Why are you doing this? Why are you up there?"
"You have to move. John, please, move to your left. Hurry."
Without argument he moved so his was behind a large wall. There were still sniper points but it would by them a few moments until he could get down.
"Moriarty's dead," he said.
"What?"
Sherlock struggled to catch his breath as he looked back at the man dead on the ground behind him. "He killed himself. John you have you listen to me. You're in danger."
"I'm in…Sherlock, what's going on? You sound winded."
He looked all around for the gunman. He had to get inside Moriarty's mind. There had to be a way to outsmart them. "You need to come inside. I'll meet you in the lobby."
"What about you?" he asked.
"I'll meet you there. You have to listen to me."
Just as John began to walk towards the lobby, he saw the gunman. He was across the street, on the fourth floor. A window was propped open just a few inches the tell-tale glint of a rifle shined in the distance. It was aimed for the door. He was waiting until John was in view.
"Stop!" he shouted.
John halted.
"Do not move," he said. A few more feet and there would be a clear shot. With the wall as a barrier there was no way to see John.
"What should I do?" he whispered.
"Kneel. Get low to the ground," he said.
He knelt. The shot was even more difficult.
"What is happening?"
He looked back up at the 4th floor window.
The gunman was gone.
Sherlock's heart pound as he looked for him. The equipment would take 90 seconds to dissemble and transport to another location. If he was looking for a shot from the west then John had under a minute to get inside.
"Move," he said.
"Where?"
"Inside," he said, "hurry."
John stood and looked up towards the roof. "Okay," he said.
Just as he began to move, Sherlock heard the bang.
His instinct was to see where the noise came from.
4th floor window.
He hadn't waited long enough.
Sherlock looked back at the ground and hoped that the image would be different. He hoped that it was another shot. Another victim.
Anyone but John.
He was wrong.