Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock Holmes or the tv-series this story is based upon.

18. The die has been cast

"Caring is not an advantage, … Sherlock. All hearts are broken. All lives end."

The detective's fingers distractedly plucked at the strings of his violin, playing no particular tune, as he sat by the fire place. His brother's comment four years back kept echoing over and over in his head, but Sherlock couldn't figure out why.

When his brother had said it to him, he hadn't payed much attention to the chosen words at all. He hadn't believed the words could be meant for him. Still, they chose this moment to return and haunt him like a ghost from his past. The words seemed to grow stronger and louder, too, as they echoed in the deep recesses of his solitary mind. For some reason, the echoes paradoxaly were his only companion while amplifying his loneliness.

All hearts couldn't be broken. His heart couldn't… could it?

Suddenly, a different noise interrupted the haunting echoing inside his head. It was the sound of the creaking stairs once more.

"I thought I made it clear last time," Sherlock's voice was sharp and dark, seeming to blend with the shadows in the living room.

The woman stopped at the top of the stairs and gazed at the detective seated in his armchair in the poorly lit room.

His posture was stiff and his eyes relentless. Had Irene doubted before, she needn't had worried as she saw it written in the man's pale, blue eyes now. For the first time, she realized Moriarty could have been correct in his assumptions. She could do this. She could break him. The thought frightened her to no end, but still she knew she had no other choice.

"You're not welcome here," the man's deep voice floated over to her.

Irene inhaled, letting her lungs fill with the misbehaving air she needed to complete this task. She had always been a great actress, still she had to be an even better one to fool the master of deduction that sat before her. As she stepped forward, a devilish smirk grazed her lips. "I've come to set the record straight, my dear."

"I don't want-" the man began but the woman was faster and interrupted him.

"You thought you won, but you never did," the woman began and the seductiveness in her eyes glowed strong in the shadows.

For a minute, the man merely glared up at her. When he spoke, his voice was more of a growl than simple words, "I disagree."

"Oh, I know you do, you poor man. You thought you beat me at my own game, because of sentiment," Irene said and laughed in mockery of the man before her. "But it wasn't the end back then. It was barely the beginning."

Sherlock frowned up at her and awaited her explanation as he tried to keep up his cool facade.

The woman swiftly continued as she walked closer towards him. She felt like a lioness circling her pray. She didn't need to say it, they both knew she had the upper hand this time. "You took away everything from me. My life, my future… Everything. You drove me into constant darkness. You think sentiment survives or can ever be revived after that? You thought any of this – any of these past months of bliss – could be real?"

Sherlock was silent for a long time as his eyes searched hers, hoping to see a glimpse of her protected soul. Whatever he saw, made him frown in the end as he discarded the violin on the floor and stood from his seat. "It's all been a game…"

"I told you it would be," the fair woman shrugged her eyebrows and gazed up at the tall man. Though she was smaller in size, she knew she was no smaller in mind. All she had to do was hold her course now, and all would be sealed. The sooner, the better, she knew, because she could already feel her heart ache in ways it never had before. As soon as she was done here, she could leave it all behind her. Or at least try to.

"The new game you were hinting about from the day you returned… It wasn't just your game, was it?"

"...It was a set-up all along," she lied. "Every step of the way; it was all false. Rescuing you from the hands of the devil, pretending I was his nemesis too, growing closer to you until I got under your skin... A game, nothing more. You did right to think I wasn't trustworthy. You should never distrust such a fine gut instinct, but despite all logic, you did... You see it now, don't you, when you look back at all the steps that took us up to this moment?"

"You were working for him all along then? Or was it just for the sex you stuck with him?"

"If I'm the mistress of misbehaving, Moriarty is the master," Irene shrugged. "We have a lot in common. We both love games… and we both hate you."

The detective's eyes darkened briefly. "You lied to me."

The brunette pretended to toy with her man. "Oh, don't take it personal, dear… I lie to everybody."

"You're lying right now."

"No, this is just me misbehaving," Irene corrected him swiftly and smirked up at the detective. "You were always the moth to my flame. Never the other way around. But you got too close to the fires, and now you'll burn for it…"

Sherlock took one slow step closer to the woman and stepped right into her personal space. His eyes burned down at her with a darkness she never wanted to see directed at her again. The man simply growled a threatening, "It's time you left."

Irene merely raised her chin and innocently questioned, "You want me to stop?"

"Yes," he hissed with more fury than she'd ever seen the man possess.

"Too bad!" she winked up at him and stepped around him to gaze out the window briefly before turning back. "I'm just getting warmed up. I had to lie to you, to get this far… It was the only way to throw you off."

"Nothing throws me off," Sherlock argued.

"I did," the woman spoke with a mischievous tone to her voice. She had to drive the last nails into Sherlock's emotional coffin and so chose her next words carefully, "Tell me, do I detect sentiment in your voice now? I suppose you were right then... Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing part."

"I haven't lost yet," he commented in a dry voice.

The woman smirked. "Yes, you have."

Their eyes met across the abyss that seemed to separate them from each other. The bridge they had built over the past couple of months had burned and only the ashes remained of the path that had existed across the divide. Now there was no other way across.

"He tried to kill you," Sherlock argued and his eyes once more searched hers for answers he knew she wouldn't willingly give. Despite seeing the fury burn strong within the man's eyes, Irene also noted a slight shade of disbelief in them.

She had been prepared for the question and shook her head in mock disappointment. "Did he though? You know just as I do, if Moriarty attempts something… he succeeds."

The detective let his mind wander back to the moments up in the bell tower. He allowed himself to see the situation with the eyes and mind he now had. Suddenly he saw new deductions appear before his inner eye. It was as if a veil had been torn from his eyes and allowed him to see clearly for the first time since Irene's return. "Then it was only for my reaction. You let him stab you so you could continue playing your game?"

The woman shrugged. "Necessary pains."

"And the death of Kate?"

There was a brief pause before she sighed. "I thought you were swifter than this. Of course I never cared for her. Every step up 'til this moment have been necessary for the game to move forward. For your heart to weaken by sentiment."

"And this is… what? Your final strike?"

"Hurts more to be told the truth, doesn't it?" She asked in a dark voice and to her question the man had no answer. "...I beat you again."

"You've never beaten me."

"Twice now," Irene argued back. "This is the second time I see your heart... I know you never saw it coming.-"

"Saw it coming?" Sherlock fumed. "You are absolutely right, Ms Adler. I never did. I've always known the heart can weaken even the strongest mind if allowed control, but you made me lower my defenses for a second... And that was enough. Now you stab me in the back and prove I was right all along."

Though her heart broke beneath her flawless facade, the beautiful woman managed a cold smirk. "Consider my payback complete then. This is the end. You won't ever see me again-"

"Good," the man interjected swiftly with finality to his deep, dark voice. With one fluid motion, he turned his back on her and pretended to gaze out the window at the evening outside.

Irene finally let her eyes fall and exhaled once in order to recollect herself to complete the destruction. "Do us all a favor and accept your defeat, Mr Holmes. When I leave, move on. Don't face Moriarty, unless you have a death wish. You're already defeated, you won't win. Goodbye, Mr Holmes…"

The dark-haired man pondered her final words but kept his thoughts to himself. Having turned his back on the world, he simply heard the stairs creak once more as Irene descended and left Baker Street for the last time.

As the door closed, Sherlock exhaled and closed his eyes tight.

Irene wiped at a tear in the corner of her eye as she walked down the street towards the waiting car at the corner. She opened the backdoor and gracefully jumped inside. As she closed the door behind her, she kept her eyes ahead and her breathing even. She had to keep her flawless, indifferent mask up as to keep her emotions under control a little while longer. The last thing she wanted was for the man beside her to know how affected she had been to see the distraught fury in Sherlock's eyes.

She wet her lips and slowly addressed the man beside her, "I've done everything you've asked of me… but I'm still not a free woman, am I?"

Moriarty seemed to consider her words for a minute, but Irene knew it was all part of his game. "…Not quite. But don't worry, dear, I only want one more thing from you now."

Though the woman dreaded the answer, she managed a low, "… And what might that be?"

The man leaned closer until his breath tickled the side of her neck and Irene closed her eyes in fear of what was coming next.

"Your life," Moriarty hissed into her ear. He swiftly pulled out a syringe from his pocket and pressed the needle into her arm before she had time to react.

A little while later, John hurried through the front door to Baker Street and rushed up the stairs.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" he called and stopped on the edge of the living room as he saw his best friend stand in the evening glow from the window with his back to him. "Good, you're here."

"It can't be a surprise to you, John," the other man said in a dry, emotionless voice but without turning around to face his friend. "I live here, after all."

"Lestrade called earlier. Said they found the dead body of that missing girl in the swimming hall…" the blond man said and stepped closer into the room. Sherlock still didn't react or turn around.

There was something tense in the air at 221 B Baker Street. John felt as if he was walking into a war zone after the battle had ended and all that remained was the smell of death and loss. Even as he beheld his best friend, he saw only the air of finality and aloofness in Sherlock's posture. A battle had been fought here today, and the doctor had a feeling there had been no real winner.

"…Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Of course I'm alright," the detective replied in a short tone. John opened his mouth to comment, but Sherlock beat him to it. "She deceived us, John… She deceived me."

The blond man shook his head and said, "I don't think she did, Sherlock."

A minute seemed to pass before Sherlock turned his head far enough for John to see his doubtful profile illuminated by the pale light outside.

The short man hurried to explain his train of thought. "I stayed at the basement for awhile after you both left. I found the video source and a CD of the… eh, the… you know… I took it straight to Lestrade to check it out. I don't know why, Sherlock, but I just got this feeling… I think it's fake. The lab had a quick look but couldn't see anything, but I don't know… That's why I came home. I need your eyes to help me figure it out. You need to see it again."

Sherlock frowned in frustration. "You're out of your mind, John. Why would I want to see it again?"

The other man sighed as he walked over to the desk and his laptop. "I told you. I don't buy it. It… doesn't make any sense, does it?"

The detective looked as if he completely disagreed with his friend. "Ms Adler was just here to say goodbye… She explained it all. It makes complete sense. It's crystal clear to my head. And that means it's over..."

The other man raised his gaze and tried to read the impassive look in Sherlock's eyes. John had to agree that the video had changed everything, but after the first wave of disappointment had settled he had found his thoughts more clear.

As for as John cared, Irene had proven herself over and over to him. He had realized that all she had done since returning to London had been for Sherlock. Though she was a great actress, she wasn't great enough to pull such a scheme off, the doctor knew it in his heart. He was certain there had been no dubious motives in her heart.

"Listen…" John began slowly in an attempt to penetrate his friend's anger. "She told me never to tell you, but I think you need to hear this. When I was in Belfast-"

Sherlock sighed and fully turned to face his friend at last. "I know, John. Irene popped in for a surprise visit and tricked you into accompanying her to meet with a pakistanian assassin. Hazaar helped her escape in Karachi, you see... which I'm sure she told you all about."

The other man felt his jaw drop. "I know I shouldn't be surprised, but… how did you…?"

"Mycroft," the dark-haired man explained and John nodded in understanding. Sherlock began pacing through the living room as he continued, "Either way, you wound up shot in the arm, while she killed the man. Your tender arm was thus not caused by any rough massages…"

"Yes! Exactly!" the shorter man nodded as his eyes followed his friend across the room. "It was just a flesh wound though. Irene bet on the wrong assassin, I suppose. He was working for Moriarty, you see."

Sherlock stopped and tilted his head to the side. "So simple your mind is, John. So slow in the sharp turns. It still hasn't wrapped itself around the new facts we've been given, has it? It was all part of their game! ...You never found it odd that the assassin fired his gun at you and not Irene?"

John felt his frustration grow and he frantically shook his head. "No! Sherlock, you weren't there! You didn't see Irene kill a man to save us both. I know she's good, but no one can fake the kind of distress I saw in her eyes! ...I'm telling you, it was real."

"Not to be condescending about your powers of perception-"

"No!" the other man bellowed and even the great detective faltered. "You are not telling me I don't understand how it feels when you kill someone you're not meant to!"

Aware of his friend's 'bad days' in Afghanistan, the detective nodded in acceptance. "Of course not. I'm sorry…"

"It's fine…" John exhaled deeply and calmed himself down. He glanced over at his friend and shifted from one foot to the other. "Let's… let's pretend for one minute you believe my deductions… okay? Just… You found out about Belfast before tonight, didn't you? Did you believe she was working with Moriarty first time Mycroft told you? Or did that change after you saw the video?"

Sherlock shook his head and replied honestly, "No. I didn't think so before."

"Okay..." the blond man nodded and pondered how to get his friend to change his mind on the subject, or at least help shed some light on the situation. "We went to see Hazaar so that he could kill Moriarty and end the game before he could get to you. Moriarty had offered the man more money to take us out, though. Irene just wanted this to be over… She went behind your back because she knew you would have stopped her-"

"Obviously! I knew the man wasn't reliable!"

John ignored his friend and pushed on. "-Not because she wanted to double-cross you. You used to believe in her…"

Sherlock frowned. "I never trusted her, John."

The other man frowned right back and commented, "But you did trust her, Sherlock."

A tense silence fell over the room and John took the moment to insert the CD into his laptop. "I'm asking you to trust me now, Sherlock… Can you do that? Trust in my instincts just this once? I think you're hurt, and I think you're letting that emotion prevent you from seeing the truth. So… Please. I think there's something off about the recording. But I can't figure it out for myself. I don't have your keen senses."

The detective shrugged his eyebrows but remained far away from the desk. "Though a compliment is always appreciated… not now, John. Not ever."

John pretended he hadn't heard as he played the video on the screen. He fast-forwarded the video until the scantily clad images of Moriarty and Irene appeared on the screen. He just needed the brilliant man to see what was wrong in order for him to believe. With Sherlock, words and feelings weren't enough, he needed hard facts and he needed to find them himself.

"Now, look here. Oh, would you just come over here? I don't know what's wrong. Maybe it's not really her? Well, we see her face, so we know it is… Is the date off? Do you know what she was doing five weeks from yesterday?"

"Obviously, she did him." Sherlock said sarcastically and reluctantly joined his friend by the laptop. "That is what she does, John, that right there. Deception and misbehaving with sex as her weapon of choice."

John shook his head and glared up at the man. "I get that she's a very clever woman who knows how to play people, but… I don't think you actually realize the changes I've seen in both of you while she's been living with us. You've never experienced someone who cares and does everything for you… To protect you. You were so stubborn when it came to your relationship, so you didn't see it, but you had… have something. I know it's hard to understand right now, but… It's you who's seeing but not observing this time. Disregard your heart and pain and just… observe. Be the brilliant man I know you are and look for the clues… If only to prove me wrong."

Sherlock inhaled deeply and for some reason, the words seemed to hit home in the man's heart. Without further objection, the dark-haired man leaned down and gazed at the video with his usual detective eyes. His eyes flashed across the scene and it took only a few seconds before he backed up once more. John hated the impassive look on his friend's face, because he couldn't read it. The doctor lowered his gaze and sighed as he realized it was useless now, he'd never make his friend believe.

The detective shut his eyes tight and let memories of the past months flicker through his mind.

"You might not see the humor in this, but I do. I no longer work for him, but with you - and still you seem to believe it's an advantage for him instead of using it as one for yourself. He knew you would do this, knew you would blame me. Did you ever consider that?"

"Moriarty isn't a philanthropist. He doesn't let people live. Besides, she's merely a pawn. It's you he wants."

"He believes the devil is in his details. Because of his changeable nature he never concocts a plan without back-up. He rarely loses because he keeps the options open. That part of him, however, makes it almost impossible to get all details correct. If you will find a flaw in anything down the road, Sherlock, it will be in the details."

"It was my ex-husband… but first it was the terrorists in Karachi before you arrived. They tortured me a long time to prepare me for death and my husband later punished me for… misbehaving."

"Do us all a favor and accept your defeat, Mr Holmes. When I leave, move on. Don't face Moriarty, unless you have a death wish. You're already defeated, you won't win."

"She was right, he did miss a detail… It is fake," Sherlock's voice was full of disbelief and a small wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows as he considered the possibilities. "It's dated five weeks ago..."

"Yes…? The dates are right there at the bottom corner. You know what's wrong, don't you?"

The detective nodded once and John saw the fire return to the man's pale eyes. "I do."

"And?"

"And Irene lied to me just now."

John felt relief wash over him. He had done right to trust his own gut this time, then, and not be swept away in the emotional roller coaster of Sherlock and Irene. "Oh. So she hasn't been deceiving us all along?"

"No. Well, maybe not," the detective consented and then proceeded to point out his deductions on the screen. "You see here, Moriarty got too excited when he did this tape. He forgot a small detail. See her back here? It's flawless. In real life; her back has several scars that she received from the terrorists in Pakistan."

"So it couldn't have been recorded five weeks ago…" the blond man swiftly caught on to what his friend had deduced. "Moriarty has the means. He could easily have bribed someone to mash two videos together, make it look real. I admit, it takes a lot of time and effort, but in the end he just really needed someone to dress up like Irene and follow his lead. Then a little bit of professional retouching and… voila."

Sherlock nodded down at his friend and exhaled as one revelation after another hit him. The thoughts streamed into his head as all the facts changed once more. John was right. Irene hadn't been conducting the game, but the criminal had used her as one of his pawns to get to his main target. Of course it made sense, the mad criminal would go to any lengths to destroy his nemesis. The detective exhaled as he realized he had allowed himself to be blinded by his own heart. It pained him as he considered the lies Irene had been forced to tell and the cruel things he had said in return.

"Thank you, John," the taller man said and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket.

"Sherlock…" The doctor began slowly and grimaced as if the question on the tip of his tongue physically hurt him as well as mentally. "If Moriarty forced Irene to lie to you doesn't that mean…?"

"Yes." the other man replied shortly as he dialed her number and pressed the phone to his ear. He had to get a hold of her before Moriarty did, if he would have any chance of protecting her now. With her final words, Irene had begged him to walk away from the reminder of the game, but he was well aware the criminal mastermind would never let him. A few seconds later, he was referred to her voice-mail and froze at the unexpected voice that greeted him.

It was Moriarty's recorded voice that now met his ear. The detective froze and listened intently at the instructions that were given to him. "You have reached Irene Adler's phone. I'm afraid she's in no stage to take your call... If you ever want to see her alive again, I suggest you hurry to our favorite roof top. Alea iacta est, Sherlock. Don't keep me waiting..."

Sherlock hung up and turned to face his friend by the desk. He was too late, then. He had been a fool to spend so much energy and time trusting in the criminal's decoy that he had put the woman's life at risk. Even though he could basically feel John's anxiousness, the detective allowed himself a moment to just breath before explaining, "Moriarty has her on the roof of Barts."

"Let's go!" the shorter man flew into action and the two men rushed down the stairs without further ado. Both knew there was no time to waste when it came to Moriarty's games.

As Sherlock threw on his coat, Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway to her flat. "Sherlock? John? What's the rush?"

"No time to explain, Mrs Hudson," the man said as he put on his scarf and John opened the door. As the doctor stepped outside, the landlady took a hesitant step towards the detective.

"I heard you and Irene fought earlier…" she said gently and loud enough so that only the detective could hear.

"Don't worry, Mrs Hudson. I'm going to set things straight," Sherlock assured and patted her shoulder.

The elderly woman seemed relieved. "Oh, good. I do hate to see you two mad at each other. You're such a lovely couple."

The tall man opened his mouth to comment but was interrupted by the sound of screeching tires reaching his ears.

He glanced sideways towards the street and saw a white van hastily drive up and stop by the sidewalk next to John. While the side door of the van opened and two men jumped out and grabbed hold of John, Sherlock saw a machine gun extend out the passenger window aimed at him and Mrs Hudson.

The detective hurriedly grabbed hold of the elderly woman and threw them both onto the ground as the machine gun fired a round at the open doorway. He heard Mrs Hudson whimper in fright beneath him and John's shouts of struggle outside. Suddenly the tires screeched once more and everything was silent in the street.

The detective didn't hesitate a heartbeat as he jumped up from the floor and ran out the door. He ran into the empty street and looked up and down the road for any sign of his friend. He had just enough time to see the van cut a corner further up the road and vanish from his sight in the cold, bitter evening. He frantically glanced about him for help or for a black cab, but found neither.

Sherlock Holmes stood helplessly in the middle of the street as the rest of the world fell apart around him.

To be continued.