Hi guys sorry it's been a while! I did warn you that it would be a bit hectic while I was away and I've just been so tired these last few days I haven't been able to write an update! I know some of you guys thought the previous chapter was the ending, but that's not what I meant by it at all! You still have this one, the next one, and maybe an epilogue, not to mention a list of all my lovely reviewers! Next chapter should be up tomorrow or the next day so you won't have to wait as long don't worry!

[Sherlock]

"Please..." I whispered. There, I had given it my best shot. Either he was coming down off that ledge now, or he was going to jump. If he jumped, I would follow shortly afterwards. I'd told him as much, and I wasn't one for going back on my word.

Just when I thought that everything was indeed lost, he caught my eye and nodded. It took a moment for his action to mean something in my thoughts, but when I finally caught on, I could only grin in happiness. I watched as he climbed down and leaned against the ledge, breathing heavily from the after effects of nearly dying.

John started laughing. Shock will do that to people, I recalled. Then, I started chuckling, too. Apparently I was also in shock. We must have looked rather mad, and more than slightly hysterical, giggling away after John had very nearly thrown his life away for Moriarty's game. That sick bastard would pay once we got down from this damn roof.

John had very suddenly stopped laughing, and I could see how weary he was, even from where I stood in the middle of the roof. He looked at me, and then started to come towards me, getting faster and faster with each step.

I had another moment of emotional insight, and put my arms out in a welcoming gesture. I needed to have contact with John, just so I knew I wasn't dreaming, and that he was really alive.

Closer and closer he came, and I almost felt impatient that he was taking so long. I chuckled at his determination, and I couldn't help but feel overjoyed. Everything would be alright.

Then, my world exploded with the sound of a gun firing.

I didn't need to look down to know that it wasn't me who'd been hit. My face collapsed into an expression first of horror, then overpowering grief as the red stain on John's shirt began to spread. My friend stopped in his tracks, and kept his eyes on my face.

I knew he wasn't going to survive. His eyes told me that. They hadn't even the smallest amount of pain concealed within them, they just looked confused. I heard someone screaming, and it took a few seconds to realise that it was me. By then, I could see the signs that John was about to collapse, and I darted forwards to catch him. I knelt beside him, and the tears were streaming from my eyes, but I didn't care.

"John..." I whispered, over and over again. His lips were moving, but from what I could tell the words were all gibberish. He smiled, and this time I caught exactly what he was trying to tell me.

"See you when I wake up."

Then, he closed his eyes, and shuddered as the breath left his lungs for the last time. Then, he was still, and I was alone. My flatmate, my blogger, my friend, was gone.

I sat back. It was over. John was dead. Well and truly gone from my life, forever.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

"John..." I whispered, my voice hoarse. "How could you leave me?"

"It wasn't like he had much of a choice! Poor puppy, he was a loyal pet wasn't he? Shame he had to be put down."

I froze at the voice, but it was the words that really held the meaning. I turned, and although I already knew what I would find, I could not stop the strangled moan that escaped my throat. Moriarty stood with a grin plastered on his face, and next to him was his faithful hired gun, Moran, who had a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, and a handgun still aimed after firing the fatal shot.

Moriarty began to stalk towards me, Moran close at his heel, and it seemed he hadn't finished hurting me yet. "I told you that I'd burn the heart out of you, Sherlock. You really should have seen this coming! Why would I have let you and Johnny live happily ever after when that doesn't benefit me in the slightest?!" He was watching me for a reaction, but I couldn't give him one. I was numb inside, and in that moment I truly understood what it meant to be an emotionless sociopath. My mind had been unable to cope with the onslaught of emotions, so had blocked them all, it seemed. Jim looked disappointed that I wasn't screaming at him with all the fury I could muster, and a bit unsure what to do. It was obvious that he had expected something to happen, for me to react in some emotional way, to show him how much John's death had distressed me. However, I couldn't bring myself to feel anything in that moment, considering the possibility that once I let the emotions take control, they would tear me apart.

"Well?" Moriarty asked, visibly confused at my lack of response and more than a bit impatient. "I won, I killed John. He's dead, Sherlock, in case you hadn't noticed. So what are you going to do about it?" Moran was also looking considerably unnerved by how I was taking my flatmate's death, but Jim was starting to look outraged, as though I'd personally offended him by my actions. I didn't reply. Instead, I turned back to my friend.

John's body had dropped considerably in temperature, and the blood had stained the entirety of his shirt. I felt the need to note every detail of the moment and store in in my mind palace, somewhere around where my emotions had hidden themselves.

Moriarty finally reached me, and crouched in front of me with a look of annoyed acceptance. Moran stood a few steps behind, not really wanting to get any closer, as he seemed to be comparing me to some kind of caged animal that could kill you or just as easily be your friend.

"Say something, anything! This silent thing you have going on really isn't working for me, and you know Daddy doesn't like being bored. The only person who really cared for you is dead, boo hoo! What a shame! Now, can you get over it already so we can finish our game?" There was a crazed look in those soulless eyes, and I really doubted in that moment that the man in front of me was even part way sane.

"Ugh, I don't even know why I bothered with you..." The criminal stood up, and with a look of disgust and vague disappointment turned back to his faithful sniper, who was smirking at me. "Let's go, Sebby. It seems we broke him too much, he's no fun now." They began to walk away, and even though I considered that they were probably doing it on purpose to invoke a reaction, I had to say something.

"That's it? All this elegant planning and you're leaving it unfinished?" My voice was neutral and my face was blank, but slowly I felt my emotions trickling back into being: confusion, grief, white hot fury.

Jim stopped and turned back to me with a pleased smirk on his face. "Well? What else did you expect? I got what I came for, your heart has been successfully burned my dear Sherlock!"

"Why not just kill me?" I couldn't stop the tremor in my voice, but at that point I couldn't tell whether it was from anger or unshed grief.

He rolled his eyes. "That would defeat the purpose. I wanted your anger, your hate, an unquenchable desire for revenge. A dead man has no feelings, Sherlock, and you would not be a very interesting corpse in that case."

That's when I really became angry. Sadness was drowned out in favour of revenge, and I knew just how to do it. I'd seen the signs. I carefully reached into my pocket where I had stored a gun I had stolen from one of Mycroft's employees, and brought it out. The grip was cool beneath my fingers, and I waited until Moriarty had turned around again before I brought it up and fired. The gun kicked slightly in my hand, but it felt good, especially when the bullet hit its target. Sebastian collapsed with a horrific choking sound escaping his lungs before he lay unmoving on the floor. I felt a surge of triumph when I saw Moriarty's face turn to him in shock and disbelief, then a look that came very close to actual grief, and finally, he turned to me with a look of anger that rivalled my own.

"An eye for an eye," I said, letting the hate fill my voice while I stared at him. He glared back, seemingly unsure what to do, but determined to do something.

"Did it feel good, hmm? Killing a man with his back turned?" Jim's voice took on a rather strange quality to it, and it took me a few seconds to realise he was actually upset that I'd killed his sniper, and he wasn't just putting it on. I considered his question, but I didn't really want to answer him. Truthfully, it had felt good to take revenge, and that wasn't a feeling I particularly liked considering the situation. It reminded me of how John must have felt while under the influence of the drug, only I was fairly certain I was under no such influence. I didn't want to find similarities, but it was difficult not to. Jim seemed to take my hesitation as some form of agreement, and nodded to himself.

"I'm tired, Sherlock. Really fucking tired. I thought coming here and messing you up would help, but you just took away the only thing in my life that might have turned into something good. Not that I didn't do the same to you, but I had expected to win. I expected that you would break down, that you would lose yourself in your grief, and return to a life of drugs and hate. However, you proved me wrong. Congrats. You did it. You should be proud." Moriarty seemed to find himself in a rather peculiar situation at that moment, it looked like he hadn't planned out such a disappointing ending to his little game.

Then he seemed to have a sort of epiphany, and though his eyes were a bit glazed over there was a bit of relief etched into his features, which confused me. I watched cautiously as he knelt beside the body of Moran and whispered something before taking a deep breath.

"We've both got a choice now, Sherlock. I wouldn't take too long to decide, though. Your DI friend is nearly here." He sighed, and gave me a sad smile that looked out of place. "Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. You were a worthy opponent."

I realised too late what his plan was. I could only watch in horror as he brought the gun that had killed John up to his temple, and before I could even call out, he had pulled the trigger. Blood spurted from the fresh hole, and Jim Moriarty died with a smile on his face.

Then, looking round, I realised that I was the only living person on St. Bart's roof, and I had a choice to make.

Was it time to say goodbye?

Hello, yes, one more chapter and maybe an epilogue. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, there were a lot of you so it might take me a while to reply to them, but I want to mention that I have read them all and I appreciate every single one of them! Thanks to the anonymous user too, that was lovely but I don't know whether I deserve that much praise!

I'll leave you with this, but I won't leave you long, that I can promise. You guys have been amazing so far, and I hope you stay with me right until the end. If you want to be a part of this story forever, leave a review and your name will be on a list at the end for others to read in the future, a permanent feature that will be just as accessible as any other chapter. Go on, you know you want to.