Chapter 77: Staying Alive

Sherlock returned to the hospital room to find it empty, John's doctor was chatting up a nurse when Sherlock approached him.

"Where's Doctor Watson?" he demanded.

"Oh, he's not in the room. I don't know, perhaps he left to go home. Traumatic day and all." The doctor replied dismissively.

Sherlock scowled at the older man, turning on his heels he ignored Lestrade asking him where he was going.

John didn't pass them in corridor so he went away from the exit. But where? Sherlock progressed up the hall, stopping near the stairwell, taking a deep breath he texted his friend. Of course he knew John's number there were countless times he'd dialed it from different places in the world just to hear his friends voice on the voicemail. To many times he was tempted to send the text "not dead."

Sherlock pushed the stairwell door and started up the stairs, he'd made this climb almost five years ago, at the top was Moriarty. He almost wouldn't mind facing the villain over John.

John's wrath was more cutting, angry and justified. The man hadn't said anything yet but Sherlock knew it was coming the full blown lecture, and the telling off. The ending of this friendship he'd already failed at so many times.

And Sherlock wouldn't see John again, or even get to know the miniature version of John. This idea hurt, and Sherlock wondered over the feelings surrounding this outcome.

Damn Mycroft for having close to five years with the kid, and Sherlock would only have a few young boy was another version of John, as if this was a glimpse at what John would have been had he a loving family instead of a drunkard father.

Sherlock was grateful that Lestrade was quietly following him, perhaps if Lestrade were there John wouldn't be too angry. Or it could postpone the inevitable all together.

The sound of gunfire caused both men to freeze at the last flight of stairs.

"Shit!" Lestrade pulled his radio out and drew his own weapon; Sherlock was already bounding up the stairs two at a time.

~0~

"If I killed you it would make us even." Moran was nearing John, the ex army doctor stayed rooted in place, his eyes scanning for an escape he could go back but any movement would be met by expert sniper's aim.

"It wont, it wont really." John refused to put his hands up as the man had ordered, he cursed himself for not wearing a gun anymore. Well after Sherlock died he didn't have a reason to.

"It might make me feel better." Moran snapped.

"It wont." John shook his head ignoring the pounding "What are you so angry about Moran? Angry at Sherlock for what? You were there you saw through the scope. You had the balcony seats I was stuck in the bottom row on the ground. All I saw was the end. I read the reports that Moriarty shot himself. Is that true? Did he put the gun to his head and pull that trigger."

"Shut up." Moran growled.

"Well? Did he? I feel for you. You know? I had to watch too. That sense of complete surrealism. Everything was so horribly clear and yet not. The people were faceless, all that mattered was just then at that moment your friend was dying. "

"Shut up!"

John ignored the sniper instead he stepped closer to the man. "And the worst part, the worst fucking part of it all is that they did it to themselves! They put the gun to their mouth. Stepped onto that goddamn ledge and jumped. For what? For what? To win a game? I don't know about you but I've always hated chess. And you and me were just pawns needing to be moved. And we moved because that's where they wanted us. Am I right?"

Moran took a deep breath "You don't know how he was. He was brilliant!"

"He was a sociopath! Hello! Earth to Moran! Sociopath's don't make friends! They don't care! They don't care if you were willing to jump in front of a fucking train, or take a bullet for them. They know we will that's what makes for a good pawn."

"James was my friend he was like a brother to me." The sniper growled.

"Yeah, well Sherlock Holmes was the same to me. How long did you know Moriarty? Huh? I knew Sherlock since he was six. And I've been pulling him off of garden walls and out of trees for years. This one time I was too late and he jumped. He made me watch. Except Sherlock didn't die did he? He was willing to stay gone until Moriarty's little empire was ash."

Moran didn't talk and John continued "That's the difference between a sociopath and a human being. A human being will care whereas a sociopath doesn't. He knew you were watching."

John didn't give the sniper a chance to answer before tackling the larger thug. Both men traded punches; it was somewhat of a fair fight without Moran having back up.

"I can't let you hurt my family. And I wont." John grunted bringing his knee up to the snipers side. The gun had been knocked out of Moran's hand earlier in their struggles, John was aware it was somewhere to his left, after bringing his fist down hard into the Colonels face he quickly spotted just where it was.

Unfortunately Moran did too and grabbed at John's injured shoulder. The shorter blond let out a cry in alarm and surprise feeling the pressure on the already strained tendons. Both men scrambled for the weapon with the intent of killing the other. Moran had the longer arms and his hand was already gripping the weapon's hilt before John could even make a grab.

Suddenly the two men were rolling around on the dirty roof top, John held Moran's wrist trying to aim the weapon away from him.

It was a blur of arms and legs, of hissing and grunting until the loud bang erupted. The ex soldiers went still, John was under the bigger man, eyes wide both soldiers starred at each other.

"You're just like me." Moran wheezing he rolled off of John, of course with a little help from the smaller doctor's harsh shove.

John just laid there trying to catch his own breath, he was sure another three ribs were broken on top of the old injuries. Head pounding he took in Moran's words.

"No. I'm not. I'm alive, and I always have been." And John thought he heard his name, but his headache threatened if he kept fighting the dark he would regret it.

Somehow he felt the cool summers wind brush over his face, and he thought he could hear the rustle of the trees in the park. For a moment just as John drifted into the dark he thought he was lying in a park near a fence, with a dark haired pirate standing over him.