*Haha! a second chapter? What?! Warnings:EXTREME FEELS!

Sherlock checked the disposable phone for about the millionth time in the past 20 minutes. The deadline was quickly approaching, and he found that the closer it got, the more at peace with his decision he became. Sure, he would love for John to come gallivanting in with a whole S.W.A.T. Team to take down Moriarty, but Sherlock was nothing, if not realistic. John was smarter than the average human, but he was no Sherlock. He was sure he had given too little information for John to actually find him. Besides, if John tried to rescue him, there was a very good chance that Moriarty would take him out, no matter how many men stood between him and the intended target. No doubt Moriarty had some backup plan in place to dispose of John, no matter if the consulting criminal himself survived or not.

Five minutes left.

Sherlock considered sending that text to John. He opened the drafts and read over the message once more.

John, for all intents and purposes, this is my note. While I am not physically "pulling the plug" on my life, as they say, it is because of my own actions that I will die in the music hall tonight. Moriarty tricked even me by coming back from the dead. It is obvious to me that he only told you about half of the game. He seems to have left out the part where, when you come to save me, you die, and I go free.

Them though of living without you, My dear John Hamish Watson, is deplorable. Before you, there was me. I was alone, and I believed that that protected me. I didn't want friends. Everyone else was much too dull. I realize now that the world was monotonously grey. Then you came into my life and the world burst into color. You took time to understand me, and care for me. You made me realize that, even if alone protected me, then a life of safety would never do. You are amazing, smart,sexy, and above all, you. I feel as though love is too weak an adjective to describe the feelings I have for you.

I am afraid, my dear Watson, that you have rather spoiled me. You see, I know that I cannot live without you. You have become my heart, you have become my very soul, and I can live without neither. It is with this thought planted firmly in my head that I go now to death. I cannot risk you. A world without you is a sad world indeed, and one in which I cannot survive. I am forever yours, John, know that.

I have purposely kept my location a secret, so you would hopefully not find me in time. I have, in effect, sealed my fate. You may hate me for this revelation, but, my blogger, I would loathe myself with an all consuming passion if I, through my own actions, allowed you to come to harm. Though I long to see you one last time, I know this cannot be, so I shall settle for declaring my affections here.

I, Sherlock James Holmes, love you, John Hamish Watson. I'm sorry I never told you.

Love, Sherlock

Two Minutes left

A tear rolled down Sherlock's face as he finished rereading the message. A lump swelled in his throat. He typed in John's number, bowed his head, eyes shut, and pressed send. His whole body seemed to go limp as he resigned himself finally to his fate.

At this point, he heard a bang from somewhere in the music hall. Sherlock grimly smile, figuring it was Moriarty, coming to kill him. He threw the phone away from himself, and steeled himself for a final confrontation with the madman. There was a slim-very slim mind you- chance that Sherlock could get out of this situation, and he would fight hard, or die trying. The door at the end of the hall burst open, and in rushed-John?

John made it to the music hall with five minutes to spare. He threw some money at the cabby, who looked relieved to rid himself of the passenger, and dashed quickly into the hall. He dashed inside, and started methodically searching the building. At some point, he heard his phone ring, but ignored it as he didn't have time to waste on checking it. He ran through room after room until, finally, he flung open the door to the large performing hall, and there at the other end of the hall, was his consulting detective. John ran to him, and mid stride, yelled "Sherlock!" elated at finding his friend alive. At that moment, however, a shot rang out from the direction of the stage. A white hot pain ripped through John's left arm, and he couldn't help but fall to the ground. Almost immediately, another shot rung out, and from the stage, a loud thump was heard. John wildly looked around the room for the source of the gunfire, but his vision was distorted from the pain in his arm. He could feel a lot of blood rushing out from the wound, and did his best to stem it with his non-injured hand. John held on as long as he could, but when he felt darkness creeping around the edges, he knew he wouldn't last long.

A comforting set of arms appeared, encircling John and pulling him close to a warm body.

"Sher" John muttered, still hanging on. He had something important he just had to say.

"John? John, no!" Sherlock cried

"Sherl'ck," John said, desperately trying to get three important word out, "I Love you." having completed his mission, John could fight no last sensation he felt was a wetness dripping down on his head. It was a soft pitter patter, like rain. He smiled as he thought back to the last- and only time he had taken Sherlock to a play. Les Miserables.

Don't you fret, M'sieur Sherlock
I don't feel any pain
A little fall of rain
Can hardly hurt me now
You're here, that's all I need to know
And you will keep me safe
And you will keep me close
And rain will make the flowers grow.

As John hummed softly, the darkness enveloped him, burying him swiftly beneath its impossibly heavy weight.