A.N: Hey there. So this is where we come to the end of the story. I have had an amazing time writing this piece. Honestly I have come too know some really great people through this site. I just wanted to say I think every single person who has commented, liked, reviewed this story are absolutely marvelous. It's you guys that have kept me going though this story and I thank you!
Anyway way back to the story. This final chapter is where I take your heart, rip it out from your chest and shed it into tiny pieces while I smoother myself in your sadness. AHAHAHAHHA
Betaed by the tremendous sethrox973
Also this final chapter is dedicated to Lapus_Lazulli, for being such a welcoming and incredible person!
Enjoy! ;)
Lestrade hadn't said anything to Sherlock, his face continued staring at the road as they flew at high speed through the streets of London towards Scotland Yard. The car skidded to a halt, both men exited the car. Sherlock followed Lestrade into the building. They came to a stop outside Lestrade's office.
"I just wanna say before you go in there, it looks bad. I have not idea how they got into the police department without anybody seeing." muttered Lestrade staring at the door, knowing the sight Sherlock was about to be faced with.
Lestrade unlock the office door. Turning the door handle slowly Sherlock stepped inside.
The room was quickly eliminated as Lestrade flicked the light switch on.
Just like the previous two bodies, there was a body hung upside down. The only difference was it was John.
Sherlock's heart all but stopped dead in his chest. Reaching for the body, he soon realized this was a set up scene. The hanging body was a wax-work of John. Someone had taken a lot of time and care crafting an identical wax face and body that chilling resembled John. Even the clothes were identical as well as the fake hair used and the coloring of the skin tone. Sherlock stood back for a moment to observe the rest of the room.
One side of the wall was covered in John's old adverts, clearly displaying John's old services. Some had found a forgotten advert and reproduced it for this purpose, the print was high quality and glossy. it look like an expensive job. The other side was covered in images of John with every single client he had ever been with. The images ranged from men to women in various compromising positions. By all means that should have been impossible.
The final facing wall behind the hanging wax body has a message written over it.
'The final problem. Who killed John Watson?' it was written in blood, a cold chill trickled down Sherlock's spine.
Sherlock took snaps of the scene using his phone. He then turned to Lestrade.
"Can you clean this up? No one can know about this" pleaded Sherlock. Lestrade simply nodded. Sherlock then sent a text.
'Come and play. Bart's Hospital roof. Case solved.-SH'
Firstly he needed to go a certain pathologist, before meeting Moriarty.
Sat near the edge of the rooftop was him, Jim Moriarty, the man he has been so scared of, sat down listening to his phone pump out the sound of the song, 'staying alive'. Sherlock took a step towards him, but didn't dare speak first.
"Well. Here we are at last. You and me, Sherlock. And our problem. The Final Problem. "Staying Alive". So boring, isn't it? It's just... staying. All my life I've been searching for distractions. And you were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you. And you know what? In the end it easy. It was easy. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you're ordinary. Just like all of them. Oh well"
"Where's John?" asked Sherlock circling his enemy.
"Now now Sherly don't be boring. 'Where's John?, You better not of hurt John'. Boooorrrrriiinnnggg." replied Jim, mimicking Sherlock's accent crudely.
"Okay, answer me this. How did you get so high up in the world?" asked Sherlock, as he faced Jim straight on.
"That's the right kind of question. My profession. I fucked only the best and manipulated them for my own means. Until I built up my little empire. I trust you understood the clue I texted you?"
"Of course. Colonel Sebastian Moran, ex-soldier, psychopath and hired hit man. Recently employed by you for your own needs" Sherlock stated.
"Well done, Sherly. however you only get half a point seeing as I helped you," sniggered Moriarty.
"Now shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it."
"Do it. Do what? Yes, of course. My suicide. I worked that out too. 'Who killed John Watson?' Sherlock did when he killed himself, breaking the poor Doctor's heart and effectively ending his life." communicated Sherlock. He paused for a second then continued. "I can still stop you and rescue John"
"Oh just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort. Go on. For me," huffed Moriarty, almost as if he was becoming tired of the situation at hand.
"You're insane" quipped Sherlock, he made a quick grab at Moriarty's collar forcing him near the edge in a struggle.
"That why we were made for each other, until you turned out to be ordinary. Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't"
"John"
"Not just John. Everyone. Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. There's no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump. You can have me arrested, you can torture me. You can do anything you like with me, but nothing's going to prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die. Unless—"
"Unless I kill myself and complete your story." Sherlock reluctantly released the bastard from his grip and pulled him back slightly from the edge.
"Ah yes, the typical; if I can't have you no one can love story. You gotta admit, that's sexier."
Sherlock slightly leaned over the side, peering down at the distance between the roof and the stone floor. His eyes began to water at the thought.
"Off you pop. I told you how this ends. Go on. Your death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it. By the way, Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to"
"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I shall not disappoint you," spat Sherlock as he came face to face with Jim in this heated verbal battle of words.
"Nah. You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels" responded Moriarty, ranking his eye's over Sherlock's form. Judging him and his personality.
"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them"
"No. You're not. I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me. You're me. Thank you. Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. Bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out. Well good luck with that." Moriarty pulled away from Sherlock. The silver sleek gun shone in the moonlight, before Sherlock could stop him. Jim was dead on the rooftop. His dark blood running from his body.
Sherlock turned to face the edge again. He took a moment to look up at the sky. Although he didn't know much about the stars, he admired it. The stars twinkled brightly in contrast to the dull white moon. It seemed like a perfect night to die. He planted one foot on the edge, then the other. A figure moving caught his attention, it was John.
Grabbing his phone he rang him. John answered immediately.
"John"
"Oh fuck. Sherlock I'm so glad to hear your voice. Listen I was captured by one of Moriarty's men I think. But I managed to get out. Where are-" Sherlock interrupted him.
"Turn around and walk back the way you came" John followed Sherlock's instruction, taking a few steps back from the street.
"Where?"
"Stop there"
"Sherlock"
"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."
"Oh god," John's neck was trained at a 45 degree angle. His eyes transfixed on Sherlock's form.
"I— I— I can't come down so we'll just have to do it like this."
"What's going on?"
"An apology."
"What?"
"I lied to you. I never loved you, I never could. I'm a sociopath. I can't love anyone. You were merely a distraction," argued Sherlock, trying to make it sound as if his voice was laced with conviction rather than hysteria.
"Why are you saying this?"
"I used you for my own purposes, I'm sorry."
"Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met—the first time we met—you knew all about my sister, right?"contested John. He knew this wasn't his Sherlock talking.
"Nobody could be that clever."
"You could," counteracted John, trying to reason with Sherlock.
"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Its just a magic trick."
"No. Alright, stop it now. Your lying, I know you are."
"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move," Sherlock reach out in John's direction, half in an attempt to stop him moving, the other into the connect with him.
"Alright."
"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" Tears streamed down Sherlock face. He couldn't lie to John.
"Do what?"
"This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"
"Leave a note when?" It finally clicked in John's head about Sherlock was about to do.
"Goodbye, John."
"No. Don't—"
Sherlock's coat billowed in the air as he chuck his body weight from the building. Arms and limbs waved uncontrollably through the air. It was over in seconds. Sherlock's body smashed into the stone pavement with it, John's heart.
John made a sprint for Sherlock, only to be hit by a passing biker. He hit the floor with a thud, eyes remaining on the outline of the Sherlock's coat. Everything was fussy. His eyelids dropped. And for a second time that night, everything went black.
John wasn't out for long, he clawed at the ground as he heaved himself up. He all but crawled to Sherlock's side. A crowd of people were already forming. He tried to check Sherlock for signs of life, it was no use. Someone was holding him back. His leg that once had the limp gave out on him. He hit the floor again, screaming for his Sherlock.
Sherlock was loaded onto a stretcher, as John remained in a heap on the floor. That was final, his life was shattered in that moment.
The next few weeks were a blur, he barely remembered how the days turned to nights between the drinking. Mrs. Hudson pestered John to visit the grave. He hadn't been there since the funeral. The cab journey was silent. Mrs. Hudson proceeded to wait away from the grave for John to say his final goodbye to Sherlock alone.
"Um. Hm. You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um. There were times that I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this, you were the best man and the most human... human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. And so... there. I was so alone and I owe you so much. Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it, stop this."
John stopped talking before he lost it. Feet together he gently saluted the grave. Then dropped to his knees, to touch the headstone. He pressed a kiss to his fingers, then ran those digits over the imprint of Sherlock's name.
He gave one last look at the gravestone, before a small piece of card out of his pocket.
John Holmes, male prostitute.
Fin
A.N:
Please feel free to tell me how much of a horrible person I am!
Literally that ending was so hard to write. I must of redone it about 5 times. Anyway this is the end. As for a sequel, if there is heavy demand for it I'll try and get one done for you guys. I'm working on a new story at the moment, so you guys are following me you will be able to read a new Sherlock story soon.
I'm also available over a Tumblr under brokehisactionman or elementary-sherlock if you want to visit and shout at me!
Thank you once again to every single person who has taken an interest in this story.