Jim raised an eyebrow at Sebastian's gun, then continued on inside of the house. "The abduction game is cute, Sebby, and last night was lovely, but I haven't got time for this."

"I'm not playing, Jim," Sebastian said. He pressed the gun to Jim's head. "On your knees."

Jim turned and looked at Sebastian like he was seeing him, really seeing him for the first time, a slow recognition spreading over his face. It was a mixture of surprise, amazement, and hurt as he realized Sebastian's loyalties. "Oooh, Sebastian...this is quite the turn of events. Props to you, darling, it's not often that someone can fool me like this...however, dear, need I remind you that not only John, but his friends, family, and you are at stake if you pull that trigger?'

Sherlock strode in then from the other room. "And I've been at work for the past few months dismantling them, one by one. I have quite the collection of mobile phones at the flat that get texts from you now," he said, coldly eyeing Jim. "Scotland Yard will be here soon, although I'm hoping you won't be around when they get here." He flicked his eyes to Sebastian, who pressed the gun harder to Jim's head. "Maybe you should reassess the loyalty of those close to you, James," Sherlock said mirthlessly.

Jim grinned wildly when he saw Sherlock, "Oh! Come to join the party, have you? Oh, but this IS fun!" Jim clapped his hands together. "I love surprises! Is there anyone else I should be expecting? But I'm being a terrible host—would you like something to drink, Sherlock? Tea, perhaps?"q

"I'm sorry, Jim. I'm so sorry," Sebastian murmured. His hand was trembling slightly as he kept the gun pressed to Jim's head. Just one flick of the trigger, that was all he needed. Sherlock met his eyes and nodded. Do it.

Jim's manic grin was still plastered on his face. "But wait! Here's John, now—care to grab our guest a cuppa, dear?"

John had heard them enter and it took him a moment to pull himself from the cupboard. Once he heard Sherlock talking, he pulled the gun back out of where it had been stashed, hands still bound, and silently moved down the hall, for the first time in the past nine hours, his hands were steady as he raised the gun and pointed it at Sebastian, cocking it.

"John...what are you doing?" Sebastian's eyes flicked to John, and Sherlock moved close to John, ready to tackle him and wrench the gun away if need be.

"Sherlock, do not touch me," he growled through clenched teeth. His face turned to a look of pure and utter hatred. "Sebastian. Drop. Your. Gun."

A look of utter glee and amusement spread over Jim's face.

Sebastian looked at John in alarm. "John, you can't do this." He would break down if John messed this up.

Sherlock grabbed his own gun and pointed it at John's leg. "John, I will shoot you if I have to," he said quietly. "Put the gun down."

John didn't flinch as Sherlock's gun was whipped out. He was expecting as much and keeping his own gun in his hand he suddenly kicked a leg out, knocking Sherlock down, but before he could fall, John used all his weight to catch Sherlock off balance and slam him against the wall, hard enough that Sherlock lost his breath and to his horror dropped the gun as he doubled over, gasping. In one swift movement, John had Sherlock's gun in his hand, and cocked it, one gun was now pointed at Sebastian, the other at Sherlock. "Sebastian, DROP IT!" John yelled.

Jim giggled in amusement. "Johnny Boy! Look at you! Daddy's so proud!"

Sebastian dropped the gun in despair, his heart plummeting.

John's expression was stony. "Kick it away."

Jim clapped his hands again and bounced a bit as events unfolded, his hurt from Sebastian eclipsed by the behavior of his pet.

"John...please. You can't do this," Sebastian said, but do as he was told, raising his hands defensively as he kicked his gun into the corner. "Don't," Sherlock wheezed from the ground. "John—!"

John's cold eyes locked with Sebastian's for a moment before the gun on Sebastian steadily swung to point at Jim. There was just enough time for Jim to understand. He sighed, wistfully. "Oh, John, you're so full of surprises...I can see why they keep you around." Jim smirked.

John blinked, then swallowed, then fired squarely at Jim's forehead. With a loud thump, Jim's body hit the floor.

Sebastian flinched and gave a startled yell as Jim's body hit the floor. He stared at it for a moment, but his instinct was to run to John. "John—! Are you—are you all right?" He asked, grabbing onto him. God, he hadn't gotten to see or touch him in so, so long. He was so thin, so ill-looking.

John was frozen. Everything had seemed to be in slow motion. He hadn't even realized Sebastian approaching him until he was slammed into. He stumbled backwards, in shock, both guns falling from his limp fingers and clattering onto the ground.

"John—oh, God, John..." Sebastian embraced John tightly, crying into his shoulder. Sherlock stood up unsteadily. "Give him some space, for God's sake!" he said.

Sebastian whirled on him. "Would you mind staying out of this? You've no idea what Jim's death means to us. Back off." Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but instead, blew out some air and went to wait on the front step for Scotland Yard.

While Sebastian had turned to yell at Sherlock, John had stumbled back a step to catch himself on the wall and then slid down it. He could hear Sebastian and Sherlock talking, but it was if he was hearing it through a puddle of mud. Everything was thick and blurred together and nothing was distinguishable by the time it reached him.

Sebastian stayed holding onto John as he slipped down the wall. John looked comatose, and Sebastian felt rather numb too. He looked over at the body, where a pool of red was slowly spreading across the wood floor. "It's all right, John...it's all right."

Scotland Yard swept the house, taking all of Jim Moriarty's possessions into their custody, but not before they strode in and yanked Sebastian to his feet, twisting his hands behind his back to snap handcuffs on them. "John—" Sebastian said mournfully. What had he expected? He was a criminal. "Take care of him," he said to Sherlock as he was pushed out the door. "He's suffering from severe post traumatic stress disorder. Take money out of my accounts. I'll contact you with the account number!" he called before he was pushed into a police car. Sherlock grit his teeth. It was time for Mycroft to do him a favor.

Sherlock came into the house to collect John. "Come on, John, it's time to go home," he said, and he pulled John out of the prison he'd been kept in for so long, and took him back to Baker Street.

John flinched as he was gently pulled out of the house. He'd been looked over by the paramedics and told he was fit to go home, for the time being at least. The wide-open space of outdoors after being locked in the cupboard for over a week was terrifying. John huddled up, feeling slightly better once he was enclosed in the back of the car, but didn't say anything. He wanted to go back. He wanted to go help Jim. He wanted to remove the bullet from his brain and stitch him back to life and it made him sick that he couldn't and it made him sick that he wanted to.

Once they reached Baker Street and he was herded inside, he timidly looked around. It didn't feel like home any more. All of his things had been at Moriarty's, and were, unbeknownst to Jim, in a rubbish bin somewhere. John let Sherlock lead him to his chair and sit him down. He wasn't sure how much later it was, but a cup of tea had been pressed into his hands and he was being told to drink, and so he did. After the room started to get dark, it was as if his brain finally caught up with reality. He looked around the room and noticed Sherlock perched in his own chair watching him with narrowed eyes, studying with concern.

"Where's Sebastian?" John asked softly, his voice breaking. "...and Mrs. Buttons?"

"In prison, and here, respectively." Sherlock's eyes flicked to the corner, where Mrs. Buttons was lapping at some water in a dish. "He said you grew fond of the cat, and Scotland Yard let me take it. John. How are you?"

"Oh..." he said distantly as he looked over at the kitten. "Will...will they let him out?" he asked.

"Working on it," Sherlock said. "I'm seeing if I can expedite the trial and get him pardoned for his crimes based on the fact that he helped turn Jim in. Mycroft can pull a few strings."

John gave a small nod. He didn't know what to say or think. He still felt a bit trapped, but in a different way. He was free now, but it felt suffocating. He had grown so used to being told what to do, he didn't know what to do with himself now. It briefly occurred to him to blog, but he couldn't imagine reliving everything he had gone through as he typed it up, nor did he want people to read it. "And Jim, he's...he's dead, then..." John said, hating that a sick part of him hoped that he had somehow miraculously survived.

Yes," Sherlock said, lacing his hands. "Your room's all made up, so you can settle back in there tonight."

Mrs. Buttons walked over and hopped on John's lap, purring and kneading his thigh with her paw, then curled next to him, yawning.

Meanwhile, Sebastian was in prison, hating that there was nothing to distract him from his thinking. He kept thinking of Jim, on the floor, dead. He mourned for him despite everything, and he ached to see John.

John gave another small nod and picked up the kitten, letting her curl in his arms. "I um...I'm going to go to bed, then..." John trailed off, not even knowing what time it was. He slowly rose to his feet and headed towards the stairs with Mrs. Buttons, not intending on letting the kitten out of his sight. He paused before he left the room, though, and turned back to his friend. "...and Sherlock?" John cleared his throat. "Thank you." he gave him a small, tired smile before he began to climb the stairs. He didn't go to bed quite yet, though. Instead, he went to his bathroom and drew himself a hot bath. He sunk down into it once it was filled and sat quietly for a while. Once it began to cool, he scrubbed every inch of himself clean with military precision and climbed out. He realized he didn't have any other clothes as he went out to his closet, but found a couple items tucked inside. They were Sherlock's. They'd be a bit long for him, but he tugged on a pair of pyjama bottoms anyway, and curled into bed, pulling Mrs. Buttons up next to him.

He lay awake for hours, unable to sleep, feeling too exposed and thinking about Sebastian. After a while, he grabbed his pillow and blanket and Mrs. Buttons and went to the closet. He pushed the doors open and curled onto the floor, feeling more at home—safer. John still didn't sleep, though, and didn't until he heard the soft notes of Sherlock's violin drifting up the stairs. The sound was so familiar and comforting, that it brought tears to John's eyes. This was home. He tucked Mrs. Buttons even closer to him, and silently drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Oooooo God we are SO close to the end! Two more chapters, lovies. Thanks for sticking this epic misery-fest out.