Moriarty.

I'm really sorry about this one, guys. It needed to be done.

Don't hate me ;)

Enjoy and Review ! :)

'But, no. that can't be right. Where are his shoes?' Sherlock shouted at the bewildered police officer.

Greg had asked Sherlock for help on a case, and Sherlock and John had had an argument. That was never a good mix.

Anderson was the one to get the full blow this week, though. '…you're an incompetent, idiotic man who's more interested in shagging Donovan, than completing the case! An otter could handle your job better!' Sherlock continued before flouncing out of the room. 'Sorry, Greg' John muttered, 'he seems to take personal arguments between us out on everyone else' he collected his stuff, and started to shuffle out of the room.

Greg sighed. 'Don't worry, John. Just try and sort it, yeah?'

Sherlock had, surprisingly, told the taxi driver to wait for John. He was sitting on the far left of the back seat, wringing his hands and watching something out of the window

'Well done, you prat' John said as the car started to move away.

Sherlock only glared back, repeating that is wasn't his fault that they were all 'complete and utter idiots'

'Alright. But Sherlock, Greg is risking his career, letting you go there. You need to show some respect'

Sherlock didn't respond at all to this, only continued looking out of the window.

'This is all about the argument we had, isn't it?' John tried, licking his lips.

'We never used to have arguments' Sherlock said, his voice breaking slightly halfway through.

John withheld a laugh. 'We didn't used to spend 24 hours together, Sherlock. Arguments happen, it's a way of showing each other you care'.

'It sounds stupid if you ask me' Sherlock sniffled, shuffling slightly towards John.

'It would' john grinned, pulling Sherlock in for a hug. 'I love you. This or any other argument just proves I love you even more, if possible. Not less, okay?'

Sherlock nodded into John's coat, and moved his head upwards for a quick kiss.

'None of that, in here' a rough voice came from the front of the taxi. 'Always gets so messy'

John and Sherlock contained themselves as they pulled away from each other, trying to avoid bursting out laughing. The moment they reached Baker Street, John paid more than he should have for the fare, and they both fell out of the taxi, laughing.

It only lasted a short walk up to the door of 221B for Sherlock to realise something was wrong.

The door was slightly ajar, the paintwork slightly scratched; different to how it was left.

'John' he muttered, slowly pushing the door open. 'Arm yourself with anything you can find'.

John's eyes widened as he slowly noticed the things Sherlock already had. He nodded, and followed him inside, picking up the heavy cane that Mrs Hudson was now regularly using.

Mrs Hudson was obviously out, she had left a note in the hallway, and a pot of tea for when they arrived; which was still warm.

Sherlock was about to text Mycroft, and tell John it must've been a false alarm when they noticed that there was a man, sitting in the armchair farthest away.

'Jim Moriarty' he introduced. 'Hi!'

'What do you want?' Sherlock asked the innocent looking man, narrowing his eyes.

'You, Sherlock darling. You' he continued, his eyes gleaming.

He pulled an apple from his Westwood jacket, and bit into it, humming a tune.

'Johann Sebastian Bach' John said, recognising it.

'Clever boy!' Jim rewarded, grinning. 'Your pet's relatively clever, Sherlock!'

Sherlock and John glanced at each other.

'What do you want?' Sherlock repeated, trying to look around the room for something to arm himself with.

'You guessed about the Carl Powers case, I see. Very good. Very good. I was taking yoga classes and he decided that it would be amusing to point out that I couldn't do one of the positions quite as well.

He should've stopped.'

'You killed him because he criticized your yoga technique?!' John asked, almost laughing but being hushed by Sherlock.

'But why take the shoes. Surely you would know that I'd guess. It was a silly mistake.' Sherlock said, beaming triumphantly.

Jim grimaced at this, and rolled his eyes. 'Oh no no no. I don't make mistakes, darling. I've just noticed that you've been very inquisitive into my…work, recently. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear.'

He walked up to Sherlock, closing the small amount of distance between them.

'Back off.'

Before Sherlock could reply, he was making his way out of the flat and down the stairs.

'Oh and don't try and follow me, I wouldn't want to waste a couple of bullets on you. That'd be no fun whatsoever. And I won't get the chance to burn the heart out of you, if you don't stop prying' He giggled, glancing at John, and closing the door behind him.

John took a deep breath, and fell onto the sofa, head in his hands.

'What the fuck, Sherlock?'

Sherlock sighed, looking around the room. 'I got too close to something. Something he's done or is doing and it scared him, so now he's trying to put me off. Ah' he added, when he noticed a small black camera poking from the eye socket of a skull he had recently collected. He pulled it out, and looked straight into it.

'Catch. You. Later' he whispered at the small lens, before dropping it on the floor, and smashing it with his right foot.

'Now come, John' he nodded towards the bedroom.

'On google it said something about makeup sex?' he winked, pulling his lovers arm as he followed him.

'Sherlock, you need to look into these things more. Our argument was about me buying the wrong cocoa. I hardly think sex is necessary for sorting out that problem, do you?' he chuckled, watching as Sherlock quickly stripped down to his underpants.

He walked towards John, and fell to his knees.

'Do shut up, John. Unless you want me to stop' he leant forward, and pressed his lips against John's erection.

Just as they were beginning, they heard a gunshot.

John swore and quickly shoved some trousers on before running downstairs, Sherlock straight behind him.

Nothing was amiss in their flat, so they ran down the stairs into the hall way, and the sight before them was horrifying.

Outside Mrs Hudson's flat, lay Greg Lestrade.

He was awake, his eyes slowly drooping, and he looked far from peaceful.

Standing above him was Jim, obviously not content with just leaving them alone.

'Sorry gents. He wouldn't let me pass' Jim chuckled. He strutted out and closed the front door before they could stop him.

John swore, and fell to his knees, supporting Greg's back and head.

Sherlock stood, unable to understand what he should be doing, he desperately tugged at John's arm.

John took a deep breath. 'Sherlock, call 999, say that if we don't get an ambulance soon… no call Mycroft. He needs to know, and he'll get something sorted quicker' Sherlock nodded at this, and stepped outside pulling out his phone and dialling.

Mycroft – he started

Ah, brother dear. We're not starting to call each other, are we?

It's Greg, Myc

What's happened – the tone of his voice had dropped lower, it was almost threatening.

He's been shot. Get an ambulance over to 221B ASAP – Sherlock hung up. He couldn't bear to hear his brother break down. Not now. Not ever.

He walked back into the hallway to find John attempting to stem the blood flow with his hands.

From what Sherlock could see, he had been shot thrice.

'John' he whispered. 'John, it's gone through his lung with one shot. An artery in his wrist with the other. And the third-'John cut him off. 'Stop it. He'll be fine, okay?'

Greg's breathing was becoming more laboured by the second, and he looked as if he may start fitting.

Sherlock walked over to his side, and cupped his face, making him look straight at him. 'Greg, deep breaths, don't close your eyes, not just yet. You need to see Mycroft, remember?' Greg smiled slightly at this, a small amount of blood dripping from his mouth. He pulled Sherlock close, and whispered something in his ear. Sherlock's eyes widened, but he nodded, his lips closed in a tight line.

'L-love 'im' he whispered, his chest beginning to convulse.

'I know that, but you need to wait and tell Myc, okay?' at that moment, the man in question walked through the already open door, panic written on his usually straight, solemn face.

'Greg' he whispered, dropping to his knees by his lover.

'l-l…love you' Greg managed, looking into his eyes.

'I love you too, darling. Just stay awake, yes? Just for me? Please?' a tear fell from the distinguished, icy eyes.

Sherlock whispered Greg's condition into Mycroft's ear, and then pulled John up, to wait outside with the ambulance.

'Why aren't the ambulances coming to help him?' John said, his anger building. 'There's still time'.

'No' Sherlock said, closing his eyes. 'Greg doesn't want help. He knows he's going to die, and the paramedics will only prolong it. He asked me to leave him when Mycroft came, so they could have their last minutes together. Alone'

'Why was he here, Sherlock? Why did he come?'

Sherlock pulled out his phone, showing a text. 'I didn't receive this until a minute ago, we were… preoccupied.'

Hey Sherlock,

I'm going to come over – It's Myc's birthday tomorrow and I need your view on what you think of his present – don't worry about earlier, Anderson is an idiot.

- GL x

'He clearly thought keeping Jim from leaving was a good idea' Sherlock shouted.

'Don't' John whispered.

Tears openly fell from both the men.

'But what will I do without you?' Mycroft choked, trying to keep his emotions in check, wanting to be strong for Greg.

'You'll. Be. Fine.' Greg said, his voice slowly quietening.

'You changed my life' Mycroft added, leaning down to press his lips again Greg's. His hand was resting on his chest, he could feel it as his heart rate weakened.

'And don't you forget it' Greg joked, pulling Mycroft down for another kiss.

They separated and Mycroft looked at Greg, thinking of how else to express his emotions. But it was too late. His chest was no longer moving, his heart rate slowed to a standstill. 'No' Mycroft whispered, all the tears he had prevented now over filling, spilling over, onto the body.

Sherlock walked in, hearing this, and found Mycroft leaning over the body, holding it close, repeating no

Sherlock pulled his brother away and into his arms, as the paramedics pulled the body onto a stretcher, and covered it with a cloth.

Neither said anything, Sherlock allowing Mycroft to cry, and scream and do anything he felt necessary, just rocking him slightly in return.

He was screaming now, repeating the barely audible words 'Caring is not an advantage. Caring is not an advantage' – he was trying to convince himself that he was fine, that he didn't love Greg and that this wouldn't affect him the way it already was. He was kidding no one.

'But I love him' Mycroft whispered.