Sorry it's so late! Oh, and sorry again. You'll see why.

[Sherlock]

It was rather unreal, and as I sat there, unable to move from the unexpectedness of it all, I realised that I hadn't really been left with a choice at all. There was no question what my decision would ultimately be. To live on when everything that had meant something in my life was gone, or to kill myself and ensure I would not have to go through the grieving process for John after all. Like a normal human being, I had no wish to inflict pain on myself, and living without John would be agony I was certain. I had done that once before for three long years, and the wait had nearly broken me. At least then I had known I would be able to return to John, and still had been able to hope that things would return to normal. Now, there would be no possibility of a happy ending. The only thing that had held meaning in my life was now a cold corpse resting on my knee.

I stared down at John's pale face, and tried to imagine how things could have gone differently. Maybe if I'd realised what was going on sooner I could have prevented it. Even going further back, if I'd double-checked that Moriarty really was dead on that rooftop so many years ago, I wouldn't have been cradling John's lifeless form in my lap at that moment.

The doctor's eyes were glassy in a way that could only mean death, but he looked more peaceful than he had for a long time. I supposed that was my fault, I had thrust him in harm's way when he could have had a much longer, albeit more lonely, life having never met me. However, I knew for a fact that if he had been faced with the choice, there was no question as to what he would have picked. John Hamish Watson needed a life of excitement and adventure, or what was the point in living? I had saved him from the mundane life normal people lived, one I doubted he would have been able to deal with for too long. Really, I don't think he would have had a longer life without me, which was saddening, but made me feel better in a way.

I gently closed his eyes with the tips of my fingers, and let out a choking sound as I did so, trying to hold back the tears and failing miserably. With no one to direct it at, the fury had faded into despair and grief, leaving me with a wet face. I had not cried for a while, the last time being on the roof watching John far below, our situations in this moment nearly opposite from that fateful day. Now he was the one who had died, and I was the one being left behind.

I understood what Moriarty had meant by a choice. To die by my friend's side, or to continue my life without his presence. To take the easy way out, or continue my life without purpose, probably ending up back in the gutter with a cocaine addiction and nothing left to live for. To have come so close to complete happiness, only to have it stripped away, was mentally scarring if not permanently damaging.

With that, I came to a realisation. There really was nothing left for me. After years of struggling through life I had given it my best shot to become a valued member in society, and for a while it had been close to working. Then, John arrived, and for the first time I had someone to call 'friend'. Life had never looked better, and though we had our hardships, nothing could have made the days more worth living. After Moriarty's little game things had taken a turn for the worse, and coming back to a broken John was difficult, but I thought in time we would pull through. It seemed luck was not on my side, demonstrated by the fact I found myself cradling the head of my dead flatmate on the same roof where things had all gone downhill years ago.

Thinking about it, the only one who would be upset was Lestrade, and maybe Mycroft if he wasn't too busy to mourn. Mrs Hudson was dead, and everyone else I had known would be more upset over John's passing than mine. Most of London didn't know about my return, they didn't even need to know I'd come back only to really take my life.

No one was coming for me now. There was no need to let my pain fester, no need to leave a piece of my soul behind in the form of a note. I had done that once before, and look how well it had turned out. There would be no one to read it anyway, apart from those who still believed that I had created the illusion of Moriarty to show off my brilliance. They would read what I wrote and they would interpret it in a way that suited them and their fantasies. Nothing I would write could ever change that.

Quick, painless, sheltered. There was no need for a public display any more. I had fallen to my death before and the experience was clouded with horrible memories. It would certainly not be my first choice. That left the gun.

My fingers reached out to where I knew John's gun would be. I had dropped it after firing the fatal shot that had killed Moran, mostly in shock, but I had not forgotten the sound as it had hit the ground. So different from the sound of the sniper's body colliding with the roof.

My hand finally grasped the cool grip of the handgun, and I brought it up so it was level with my eyes. It didn't seem a very interesting way to die, at my own hand, with no one to see my final expression, but in that moment it was the least of my worries. I had always imagined that I would die young, chasing a criminal, John holding my hand as the light left my eyes for real that time. In my mind, he would have grieved for me for a very long time, but like a solider, would have carried on with his life. Maybe he would have married, a nice young woman, had a few children, and lived a long life. Hopefully he would have thought of me often. Then, one day, when he was very old, he would have closed his eyes peacefully and left the world a happy man.

"That's how it should have gone..." I whispered softy.

With a final glance down at my deceased flatmate, I closed my eyes and with a trembling hand, brought the gun to my forehead. As I squeezed the trigger, I kept an image of John smiling firmly placed where I could see it. His smile was infectious, and I couldn't stop myself from returning it.

That was how they found me a few minutes later. Lying so very, very still, with John's head resting on my legs, and the ghost of a smile continuing to adorn my features from happy memories and the promise of seeing my doctor again very soon.

I would like to say a huge thank you to every one of you who has continued with my story after reading the first chapter, and has been sat waiting sometimes for days on end all for an update that would almost assuredly make you cry and curse the day you came across this little website. I have loved hearing every comment, good and bad, that has been posted for this fic, and though this chapter is very late I have finally finished. It's a weird feeling, a sense of freedom not unlike how Sherlock must have been feeling in his last few moments. There is still one more update I have to make, but it will be a list of all my reviewers so that your names are permanently part of this story for future readers, if you have no interest in such a list I would recommend you skip the alert. I have more stories planned for the future, and I hope many of you will continue to read them. I know many of you have followed/favourited me as an author, which is a very pleasant surprise, and I hope that I shan't disappoint you!

Until next time,

Dangerous Bliss