Harry knew that no plan survived first contact. They made contingencies, of course; plans within plans within plans. Sherlock was very anal-retentive—erm…meticulous, that way. Of course, having the greatest wizard in the century present didn't help, either. It seemed he was even more scrutinizing of the details than either Holmes. Harry couldn't keep track of all the sub-planning. He could tell John felt the same way.

Unfortunately, Moriarty made contingencies as well. He was the most influential criminal mind of their time, after all. It all began at St. Bart's.

John received a call. Mrs. Hudson had been shot, likely by one of the assassins that took up residence nearby. Of course, Harry and Sherlock recognized it as a ploy to remove John from the equation. He did have a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later.

"It's a trick," Sherlock said.

"What? Are you sure?" John said.

"Almost positive. Moriarty has agents anywhere and he wouldn't be so sloppy as to have one of the assassins shoot her for no reason."

"Then I'll just stay then."

"No. Go."

"Why?"

"If Moriarty is trying to divide us, then we need to play along. Otherwise, he'll suspect us and our entire plan will go down the drain, most likely ending in all of our deaths," Sherlock explained nonchalantly. Johns stared at the man for awhile before shaking his head.

"Unfortunately, I can't argue with that. Be careful, Harry. You know what Moriarty is like," John said, squeezing Harry's shoulder.

"You too, John," Harry replied, nodding. After another five minutes, Sherlock's phone beeped. Moriarty had sent Sherlock a short text.

I'm waiting… M

"Are you sure you can do this?" Sherlock asked, gripping Harry's shoulders and staring him directly in the eye. Harry nodded.

"He has to be stopped. I'm part of that plan whether I like it or not."

Together, Sherlock and Harry went up the fire stairs and onto the roof. If the situation wasn't so serious, Harry might have laughed. Moriarty was bobbing his head to 'Stayin' Alive' by the Bee Gees. Harry guessed Moriarty was a fan of disco.

"Glad you could make it. And you brought the boy… thats good. Wouldn't want him dealing with dear old Mrs. Hudson and miss all the fun," Moriarty commented nonchalantly. Sherlock stepped protectively in front of Harry.

"What do you want?" he said. Although Harry had a feeling Sherlock already knew the answer.

"What a vacuous question, Sherlock. Frankly, I'm disappointed. I mean, obviously I want you destroyed. You were fun while it lasted, but I've beaten you. Not even Junior's friend could get the jump on me," Moriarty said. Harry swallowed. Could he mean that Remus was—

"Dead, of course. Poor man had quite a fall," Moriarty said, pointing towards a building across the street. A man in all black stood at the edge, saluting them. He must've pushed Remus off the ledge. Harry knew that in reality, Remus must've apparated away before he ever hit the ground. It was a problem, though. Now that Moriarty 'killed off' the only perceived threat, Sherlock and Harry were on their own unless they chose to blow their cover.

"You're a monster," Harry managed to say. Moriarty sneered.

"No, I'm just prepared. If you think I'm stupid enough not to bring my own back up, then perhaps Sherlock really is a fraud," he laughed, "Now, shall we get down to business?"

"And what business, other than your arrest, would that be?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I didn't invite you two up here for the view, you know," Moriarty replied. Sherlock's eyes flickered to the ledge. Harry felt something wrong. If he wanted to just outright kill them, they'd be assuredly already dead. Something wasn't right.

"You rob three different high security places with a code that can unlock any door, take nothing, get off scot free, tear down my image and now…"

"Now it's time to take the final leap… Fake genius detective commits suicide out of shame. I read it in the newspapers, so it must be true. I love newspapers. They're like fairytales," Moriarty said.

"And why would I do that? You haven't really given me much incentive," Sherlock said coldly. Moriarty's smile was twisted.

"Let me put it this way, your friends will die if you do not." That stopped both of them in their tracks.

"John?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty's nod made Harry shiver.

"Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson?" Another nod and Harry could feel the tension rising.

"Everyone."

"Lestrade?"

"Three bullets, three gunmen. There's no stopping them now unless my people see you jump," Moriarty said.

"And Harry?" Moriarty looked at Harry as if he were ordering food at a resturant. His grin made Harry take a step back. He felt sick. They never discussed the possibility of collateral damage. Moriarty's obsession seemed to only extend to Harry, John and Sherlock.

"Perhaps he'll have an accident as well. Maybe I'll take him under my wing, make him my sidekick," Moriarty taunted. Sherlock paled.

"Please… leave him be," Sherlock's voice cracked. Harry looked at the man and saw a tear run down his cheek. Moriarty grinned.

"And why in the world would I do that?"

"Because after everything, this is between you and me. You want me destroyed, I can understand that. We are, after all, enemies. But they are collateral damage. They do not dare to tread the depths that we do. Please, if you have any mercy, leave them alone," Sherlock begged. Moriarty's face became grim. He looked at Harry.

"The respect I have for you will keep him alive, as long as he behaves himself. Understand?" Moriarty sneered. Harry nodded. The man's face suddenly morphed back to a cheerful state. "Wonderful! Now, off you pop." Sherlock turned to Harry, who could not comprehend what was happening. His mind was moving too slow. Fear was crippling him.

"I love you, Harry. Remember that. In my life I've made many mistakes and have many regrets. If there is anything in my short life that I can say I was proud of, it'd be you. Stay strong when I'm gone and please stay with John. You'll need each other," Sherlock said, putting on a brave face. Harry felt his eyes sting. The seconds ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace.

"God please… don't," he croaked. For the first time in awhile, he felt his age. He wasn't the prodigious Harry Watson, or even Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was just some kid who had no control at all. It was crushing.

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said happily.

Sherlock stepped off the ledge.

"NO!" Harry scrambled forward, to where the detective had just been standing when a bright bolt of energy caught his attention. He turned.

Moriarty's face was one of shock as he fell over, stunned. Before Harry could react, he felt someone wrap their arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

"Remus?" Harry asked hoarsely. Lupin nodded.

"Yes, it is me. God, Harry, I'm so sorry. After they thought they killed me, Dumbledore alerted me about the gunmen and I tried to get to all of them in time… Jesus, I can't believe—"

"We have to go! He's down there on the street! You're a wizard! You have to save him!" Harry shouted, trying to pull away. Remus shook his head gravely.

"Wizards can do many things Harry, but resurrecting the dead is not one of them," Lupin said. Harry looked and felt as if he'd been punched in the gut

"Then what are you for?" Harry spat. He immediately regretted saying it, but at the moment he couldn't care less. One of the two only parental figures of his life had just committed suicide. Dumbledore apparated onto the roof with a small pop,

"And where were you?" shouted Harry. He barely noticed the tears running down his face. Dumbledore's face was ashen. His eyes were a stormy deep blue and lacking his usual twinkle.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, I cannot tell you. It is for your safety as well as everyone else's," Dumbledore answered grimly.

"That's not good enough! You should've kept him safe! You could've…"

"In my life there are many things I could've done. This will forever be one of my greatest regrets, Mr. Potter. You have my most sincere condolences."

"Sherlock…" Harry murmured, staring at the ledge where the man stood only a short while ago.

Harry was escorted down from the roof and into a cab by Remus. Dumbledore did not come with. They hadn't broken the news to John yet. Harry could feel the guilt weighing on him. If he'd had his wand… but no, he'd stupidly left it on his dresser. Sherlock's death was his fault.

Harry was so lost in thought he didn't notice they'd arrived at 221b. John was waiting with a smile on his face. It dropped when only Remus and Harry got out.

"Where's Sherlock?" he asked, looking at the cab, which was beginning to pull away. Harry could only shake his head. His own words were choking him.

"John…" Remus said. John's face paled slightly.

"Come on… This isn't funny, boys."

"He's gone," Harry uttered weakly.

"What?"

"He's gone! Moriarty got his wish! Somehow with all that bloody planning Sherlock still manages to die! All because two fully grown wizards couldn't do their jobs!" Harry shouted. His voice echoed off the street. Remus could only look ashamed. John looked from the man to Harry.

"Come on inside, Harry. I—I'm sorry Remus," John choked before closing the door.

The next hour was spent in silence. Harry sat in the client chair while John took his usual spot. They could only stare helplessly at it. Every second was spent praying to whatever was out there that the detective in the funny hat would walk through that door. Every second only killed their hope further.

It was Lestrade who came to the door next. Harry couldn't speak, so John did.

"Mr. Watson, you are cleared of any charges whatsoever. Mr. Holmes has also been posthumously cleared," the man said in a steely tone. It was clear he was dealing with his own emotions regarding the detective's death.

"Fat lot of bloody good that does him," John replied, slamming the door shut on the detective. Lestrade left.

The day turned into night, which turned back into day. Harry slept fitfully when he managed to drift off at all. Reality felt wrong. The world around him should not be as it was. There was a hole in his heart; a never ending vortex of pure despair.

Outside, the birds were chirping. The sun had made one of its brief appearances. It was beyond hateful in the eyes of the two residents at 221b Baker Street. Neither decided to venture outside the flat.

The days shifted into weeks. The only significant thing was Sherlock's funeral. There were all sorts of people there. To Harry's right sat John. To his left was Hermione and her parents.

She kept a firm arm around him. While outwardly miserable, Harry was infinitely grateful that Hermione stuck with him, even through the madness with Moriarty. Harry felt that through it, he cherished Hermione all the more.

Back on the rooftop, the day of Sherlock's death…

"God please… don't," Harry croaked.

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said.

Sherlock stepped off the ledge. He felt the wind rush past his curly locks. He resisted the temptation to scream. If he was going to 'die', he was going to do it with dignity. Hopefully, Dumbledore would do his job.

Suddenly, it felt as if a bungee cord was attached to his lower back. His momentum slowed until he touched down. He brushed himself off and looked at the wizened old man smiling.

"I assume you have some sort of enchantment that will make it look as if I wasn't just rescued by magic?" Sherlock asked. Dumbledore nodded.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes. To everyone but us and your dear brother, you just fell to your death. I nor Remus were able to save you. Welcome to the world of ghosts, Mr. Holmes. Shall we get to work?" he said. Sherlock looked up at the rooftop, then back at Dumbledore.

"After you, Professor."