[John]

I watched with avid fascination as the car exploded, and I only wished I could have seen the Ice Man's face as he realised what had happened. I was only watching it live on the laptop one of my lackeys had conveniently remembered to bring with them, but I still felt a rush of pleasure and excitement when the bomb went off. I let out a happy giggle as I cherished the moment. The beginning of the end, one might say. The end of the bastard who had cost my dearest friend his life. It still hurt to think of Sherlock, but I talked to him often in my dreams, and he always supported whatever I was planning, so it wasn't as though he was gone. Not really. I still missed his presence, but at least this way I wasn't constantly worrying about whether he was alright. No one could hurt him now.

I also visited his grave occasionally, but never for long, as Mycroft would always know when I was there, and would attempt to talk me out of this "mad path of vengeance" as he so eloquently put it. I grinned as I realised I would no longer have to worry about his interruptions. He would soon be dead.

I continued to watch the tape, and froze when something caught my eye. A figure, running to the car, having just stepped out of the one behind. I growled and muttered a string of curses under my breath, causing the man on my right to flinch in anticipation. They all knew what happened when I got in a rage, and this was certainly enough to make me angry. The figure, who I couldn't see properly, seemed to talk to Mycroft for a few seconds, then abruptly left, fleeing into the nearest dark alleyway. I pondered this for a moment, but decided soon after that it wasn't a big deal. Most likely one of Mycroft's spies, or one of Sherlock's old homeless network. One stupid homeless person would not be able to stop my plan.

It was time to greet the British Government.

Three of my men got out of a nearby car and i watched on the screen as they trooped across to the smoking mess, flinging the door open and dragging an injured Mycroft out by his forearms. I smirked pleasantly when I realised he was in pain. Served him right.

They brought him back to the car, and began to drive to the predetermined meeting post which I was already outside of. Getting out of the car I had been waiting in, I skipped over to the building I would "prep" our guest in. I wouldn't be able to fully make him pay once we were on the stage, as I'd have to make do with a quick, dramatic execution, but there was no reason I couldn't give him a piece of my mind beforehand.

I waited patiently for a good ten minutes before they arrived, dragging a slightly broken-looking Mycroft between them. His eyes widened when he saw me, and I gave him a little wave and an evil grin. I'd dyed my hair since I last saw him, as dark blond didn't really give off that 'evil maniac' vibe I was going for. I was wearing an expensive navy suit just for the occasion, it was amazing the amount of money one could make when organising crimes. No wonder Moriarty had liked it so much.

"John." Mycroft finally greeted me, and I saw a flash of pain in his eyes. I stepped closer until we were only a couple of meters apart, and gestured to my guards that they should put him in the chair I had provided. He had given me a choice of whether or not to stand when we first met, but I didn't think he deserved the option. Once he was seated, he had to look up at me to see my face, and I removed my glasses so that he could see every movement I made. I wanted him to look me in the eye for these last few minutes of his life, and I wanted him to fully understand how much he had betrayed both me and Sherlock.

"I had guessed you'd be coming for me." he sighed and I lowered my face so it was directly in front of his.

"We're going to have lots of fun in these next few minutes, Mycroft dear. I only wish poor Sherlock could be here to see this! He'd join in, you know. That man always complained about how much he hated you, no wonder you betrayed him!" He flinched, and I had to force myself not to hit him as a look of regret passed his face.

"No no no! You can't possibly be expecting forgiveness now can you?" I kept the smile on my face, but it was forced, and I narrowed my eyes as a wave of fury passed through me.

"Look, John..." He stared, but I cut him off, my anger finally spilling out.

"No, Mycroft! I will not stand here and let you tell me about how He wouldn't have wanted this, how I'm making a mistake and that I should let you help me! He trusted you, and YOU KILLED HIM!" I screamed in his face, and I was happy to see the Ice Man flinch at my accusations. I then proceeded to punch him in the jaw, and then slapped him for good measure. He was panting heavily, and I could see the well-masked but painfully obvious fear in his eyes.

"You're a complete bastard, you know that right?" I gritted my teeth and punched him again for good measure, giving a grunt of approval when I heard the air being forced out of his lungs. "You, and everyone else that helped kill him that day. Don't worry, they'll all get their turns." I spat at him, and I shook my head when he attempted to wipe it off. I wanted him to feel my contempt for him, burning against his pale flesh in that puddle of saliva dripping down his cheek.

"I still don't see why Mrs Hudson had to become part of your messed-up plans for revenge, John. You know it wasn't right. The John that I knew, the John that Sherlock jumped for, he wouldn't have done that." I could see his impressive brain working, trying to think of anything he could say that might make me question what I was doing. I just laughed cruelly at his response.

"Oh come now Mycroft! If she hadn't been 'injured', I would never have left Sherlock alone with Moriarty, and he wouldn't have jumped." I watched him, very happy with my explanation, but he didn't seem to agree with my logic.

"That's it?! That's why you killed her? Because Sherlock sent that text to get you out of the way?! How could she possibly have known he would do that? The only person you can blame for that is him-" I couldn't stand to listen to any more of his crap.

"ENOUGH!" I shrieked, and he recoiled in surprise and fear. I punched him again, and this time he fell to the floor, clutching his eye. I kicked him and stood on his fingers, all the while tears were streaming down my face. Once I was certain he could no longer defend himself, I bent down and growled at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking him towards me.

"You listening?" I asked him, and pulled on his hair until he nodded. "You don't realise how much I hate you. How much I want to beat you until an inch of your life, and then kill you in the longest most excruciating pain possible. But I have something else planned for you!" I grinned at the confusion etched on his face and laughed gleefully before continuing.

"You will be an example to the people of London. To everyone who helped kill Him, with their vile words and comments that held no evidence. They will watch as I kill you, and they will be unable to do anything about it. They will live in fear and regret of what they have done." I let that settle in before I delivered the biggest blow of all.

"You see, Mycroft, you were wrong. Sentiment is an advantage, just look at where it's brought me! If only Sherlock could see me now..." I looked up in thought as I imagined the look of delight on his face if he were here with me now.

"You're delusional. Mad. Insane." Mycroft growled, and I turned to him in surprise. "He would have despised what you've become. You aren't powerful, you aren't serving justice at those who've hurt you. You're a monster, John Watson. An evil, soulless creature, just like Moriarty."

I felt my face twist with rage as his words finally registered, and I slapped him again for the last time. "Bring him." I ordered to my henchmen, and they obeyed, pulling the British Government up by his shoulders. I turned to him one last time and whispered, "Any regrets?"

"Just one. Not killing you when I had the chance." He stiffened as though expecting another slap, but I just giggled at him and patted him lightly on the shoulder.

"You wouldn't have done that," I said as he looked at me confusedly. "Sherlock wouldn't have let you." With that, I skipped ahead, singing softly to myself as I went.

We arrived on the stage shortly after, and soon a crowd had gathered. I brought my gun up to Mycroft's head and forced him to kneel beside me as I waited for Lestrade. I knew he'd be the one to come. He always did.

I didn't have to wait long, and soon saw him walk towards me. I felt my grin get even wider as I registered the look of horror and depression he wore at seeing me.

"This. Ends. Now." He said, and I could only smirk at how stupidly corny that sentence had been.

"What ends, Greg? Mycroft's life? Well, he does deserve it, and since you insist..." I completely believed with every atom that made up my being that Mycroft did deserve to die. However, I wasn't quite done yet, and happily bantered with Lestrade for a bit longer, forcing him to beg even though I knew it wouldn't work. Mycroft would die here, that was a certainty.

I rolled my eyes when he started to whine on about how "John wouldn't have done this" and all that was absolute bollocks. I was still John wasn't I? And I was certainly doing this.

"Ugh, Greg. Don try to talk to me about any of that bullshit. We both know exactly what happened. In case you don't remember, I was there." I reasoned with him, before turning back to Mycroft. Suddenly I felt I couldn't wait any longer. His death would bring me a small amount of peace, and I would take all the peace I could get at the moment. I raised the gun to fire, but someone knocked into me from behind, causing the gun to go off away from Mycroft's head, and sending us both sprawling on the floor. My glasses flew off and shattered a few feet away which caused me to curse quietly. Whoever had stopped me was going to pay dearly. They were Gucci for goodness sakes!

I turned to face them, and possibly shoot them in the head if need be, but I stopped.

There was something about the man that I recognised, but what was it...?

Then, everything shifted into focus as he spoke, his eyes wide with horror and shock.

"John?" He whimpered.

I couldn't think straight. This wasn't possible. He was dead.

"Sh-Sherlock?" I mumbled, worried he wasn't real, that insanity had finally overcome me at long last. However, he nodded, and I realised exactly what this meant. For him, for me, for both of us.

Holy Shit, I thought.

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