(Third-person POV: )
On the roof of the hospital, daylight had come. Jim Moriarty – now back in a typical smart suit and overcoat and with his hair slicked back – calmly sat on the raised ledge at the edge of the building with his phone in his hand as The Bee Gees’ ‘Stayin’ Alive’ played from it. He didn’t look at Sherlock as he came onto the roof and walked towards him.
“Ah. Here we are at last – you and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem,” He began, holding the phone up higher.
“Stayin’ alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it?” Angrily he switched the phone off. “It’s just...” He held his hand out flat with the palm down and skimmed it slowly through the air level to the roof. “...staying.” He pulled his hand back and briefly sunk his head into it as Sherlock paced around the roof.
“All my life I’ve been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don’t even have you. Because I’ve beaten you,” He complained. Sherlock’s head turned sharply towards him as he continued to pace.
“And you know what? In the end it was easy.” Sherlock stopped and folded his hands behind his back. “It was easy. Now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you’re ordinary just like all of them,” He said quietly, sounding very disappointed. He lowered his head again and rubbed his face before looking up at Sherlock.
“Ah well,” he sighed, standing up and walked closer, then started to pace slowly around the detective. “Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Like dear Alice did? Did I nearly get you?”
“Richard Brook,” Sherlock said flatly.
“Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do,” Jim replied.
“Of course,” Sherlock scoffed.
“Attaboy,” Moriarty encouraged.
“Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name,” Sherlock explained.
“Just tryin’ to have some fun,” Jim replied with a fake (and not very good) American accent. As Sherlock continued to pace around him, he looked down to Sherlock’s hands and saw that he was beating out a rhythm with his fingers. “Good. You got that too,” He congratulated dryly.
“Beats like digits.Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That’s why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system,” Sherlock explained once again, just to prove that he knew it as Moriarty would demand. Sherlock knew Alice had it too, but didn’t think it was relevant.
“I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy,” Jim said in his usual maniacal way.
“Yes, but now that it’s up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty,” Sherlock said proudly, gesturing to his own head. Jim gazed at him for a moment, then turned away with a disappointed look on his face.
“No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy.” He buried his head in his hands. “This is too easy.” Lowering his hands, he turned back to Sherlock. “There is no key, DOOFUS!” He screamed the last word into Sherlock’s face. “Those digits are meaningless. They’re utterly meaningless,” Jim said almost angrily. Sherlock couldn’t hide the confusion on his face.
“You don’t really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I’m disappointed.” He turned away and lumbered across the roof, making his voice sound moronic as he continued speaking. “I’m disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock.”
“But the rhythm...” Sherlock began.
“’Partita number one.’ Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach,” Jim said, obviously irritated.
“But then how did...”
“Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?” Jim said loudly, speaking over Sherlock. He turned and spread his arms wide. “Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants.”
“I knew you’d fall for it. That’s your weakness – you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it.” Sherlock had been staring blankly into the distance. Now he sounded bewildered as he spoke.
“Do it? Do – do what?” He blinked as it became clearer to him and he turned towards Jim. “Yes, of course. My suicide.” He said, emotionless.
“‘Genius detective proved to be a fraud.’ I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers; Fairytales,” Jim drawled. Sherlock walked to the edge of the roof and leaned forward, looking over the side to the ground below. Jim walked to stand beside him and looked over the side as well. “And pretty Grimm ones too,” He added, turning his head and looking ominously at Sherlock.
221B
A taxi pulled up outside and John and Alice jumped out and hurried towards the door, John scrabbling for his keys. As he hurried inside, the man with the stepladder was standing at the top of it just in front of the stairs and is drilling a hole into the wall. Mrs. Hudson was standing nearby watching him. As the captains ran towards her, she jolted in startlement, having not heard his approach over the sound of the drill.
“Oh, g*d, John! You made me jump!” She said, only seeing John at the moment.
“But...” John mumbled, looking at him in utter confusion as Alice came up behind him and saw Mrs. Hudson. She blinked in surprise but her face changed to realization and horror in an instant.
“Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?” The landlady asked. John stared for a moment longer and then it suddenly sunk in.
“Oh my g*d,” John said softly, his voice full of horror. Alice immediately ran out and John turned and followed, both of them looking up and down the street frantically. Luckily he immediately saw what they needed.
“Taxi!” Alice called as a cab began to pull over on the other side of the road. They chased across the road towards it.
“Taxi!” John repeated. A man was standing at the side of the road having also just hailed the cab. As he leaned into the front window to tell the driver his destination, John ran around the cab and pulls open the rear door, talking even as he scrambles inside. Alice just got in on the other side.
“No, no, no, no, police!” Alice told the man, looking at him urgently.
“...Sort of.” John added.
“Oh, thanks, mate – thanks a lot.” The man muttered sarcastically, walking away.
BART’S ROOFTOP
The two men had turned towards each other at the edge of the roof.
“I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity,” Sherlock tried.
“Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort,” Jim argued, tiredly exasperated. Sherlock turned away, pacing distractedly. “Go on. For me,” He continued. He made his voice into a high-pitched squeal for the next word. “Pleeeeeease?”
In a sudden movement, Sherlock grabbed him by the collar of his coat with both hands and spun him around so that Jim’s back was to the drop. He stared into his face and then shoved him back one step nearer the edge. Jim looked at him with interest as Sherlock’s breathing became shorter.
“You’re insane,” Sherlock growled. Jim blinked.
“You’re just getting that now?” He asked, completely serious. Sherlock shoved him further back, now holding him over the edge. Jim whooped almost triumphantly and gazes back at Sherlock with no fear in his eyes, holding his hands out wide and committing himself to Sherlock’s grasp. “Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive,” Moriarty said darkly. Sherlock frowned. Jim’s voice became more savage.
“Your friends will die if you don’t,” He threatened. Fear began to creep into Sherlock’s eyes.
“John.”
“Not just John,” Jim began. “Everyone,” He spoke in a whisper.
“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock continued.
“Everyone,” Jim repeated, still whispering and a maniacal smile plastered on his face.
“Lestrade.”
“What, you’re not concerned about your other Captain?” Jim asked, pouting a bit. Sherlock glared down at him.
“Yes, even your ‘unspoken’ friend, Sherly. Four bullets; three gunmen; four victims. There’s no stopping them now,” Jim said darkly, feeling quite victorious. Furiously, Sherlock pulled Jim back upwards to safety. Jim stared into his face.
“Unless my people see you jump,” Moriarty continued. Sherlock gazed past him, breathing heavily and appearing lost in horror. Jim shook himself free of his grasp and smiled triumphantly.
“You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing’s gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only four friends in the world will die... unless...”
“...unless I kill myself – complete your story,” Sherlock answered. Jim nodded and smiled ecstatically.
“You’ve gotta admit that’s sexier,” He said in a bargaining tone.
“And I die in disgrace,” Sherlock continued, his gaze distant and lost.
“Of course. That’s the point of this.” Jim looked over the side and saw that someone had stopped at the benches near the bus stop below them. “Oh, you’ve got an audience now. Off you pop.”
He rolled his head from side to side on his neck. “Go on,” He continued. Sherlock slowly stepped past him and up onto the ledge.
“I told you how this ends,” Jim reminded. Sherlock’s breathing became more shaky as he looked down.
“Your death is the only thing that’s gonna call off the killers. I’m certainly not gonna do it,” Jim added, not even looking at Sherlock as he said it. Now he turned his head and looked up at his enemy expectantly. Sherlock blinked anxiously.
“Would you give me... one moment, please; one moment of privacy?” Sherlock asked, glancing down at Jim. “Please?” Jim looked disappointed that Sherlock should be so ‘ordinary’.
“Of course,” He all but sighed. He moved away across the roof. Sherlock took several shallow anxious breaths, but then he stopped breathing for a moment as his brain kicked into gear again. He lifted his gaze as his expression becomes more like the Sherlock we know and his eyes became thoughtful. Slowly a smile spread across his face and he started to chuckle. Behind him, Jim was slowly walking across the roof but he stopped, his expression livid, as Sherlock laughed with delight. Jim spun around furiously.
“What?” He asked angrily. Sherlock continued to laugh. “What is it?” Sherlock half turned on the ledge, smiling towards him as Jim glared back. “What did I miss?” Moriarty demanded. Sherlock hopped down off the ledge and walked closer to him.
“You’re not going to do it.’ So the killers can be called off, then – there’s a recall code or a word or a number,” Sherlock said proudly. Now he was the one circling his prey. “I don’t have to die...” His voice became sing-song. “...if I’ve got you.”
“Oh!” Jim laughed in relieved delight. “You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?” He scoffed.
“Yes. So do you,” Sherlock replied, still circling him.
“Sherlock, Alice, your big brother and all the King’s horses couldn’t make me do a thing I didn’t want to,” Jim chuckled.
“Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you,” He retorted, bending down and getting into Jim’s face. Jim shook his head slowly.
“Naah. You talk big. Naah. You’re ordinary. You’re ordinary – you’re on the side of the angels,” Jim sighed.
“Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them,” Sherlock argued, his voice becoming more ominous. The enemies locked eyes for a long moment as Jim tried to deduce how far Sherlock would go.
“No, you’re not,” the criminal admitted. He blinked, and then closed his eyes briefly. Sherlock did likewise in an unintentional mirror movement. Jim smiled and opened his eyes again.
“I see. You’re not ordinary. No. You’re me,” Jim said softly; insanely. He hissed out a delighted laugh and his voice became more high-pitched. “You’re me! Thank you!” He lifted his hand as if to embrace Sherlock, but then lowered it and offers it to him to shake instead. “Sherlock Holmes.” They both looked down at the offered hand, and then Sherlock slowly raised his own and took it. He noticed how Jim offered his right hand despite his left-handedness.
“Thank you. Bless you,” Jim said, nodding almost frenetically, though his voice stayed soft. He blinked and lowered his gaze as if blinking back tears. “As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends; you’ve got a way out,” He mumbled. He continued to blink with his gaze lowered. “Well, good luck with that.”
In rapid succession he raised his eyes to Sherlock’s, grinned manically, opened his mouth wide and pulled Sherlock closer as he reached into his waistband with his other hand and pulled a pistol out and raised it towards his own mouth. As Sherlock instinctively pulled back, crying out in alarm, Jim stuck the muzzle into his own mouth and pulled the trigger, dropping to the roof instantly.
Sherlock stared in horror as blood began to trickle across the roof underneath Jim’s head. Jim’s eyes were fixed and open and there was a smile of victory on his face. Sherlock spun away from him, his breathing noisy and frantic as he raised his hands to his head in horror.
Not far away and obviously unseen by Sherlock, one of the assassins trotted up a staircase and then sat down on the stairs and began to assemble a high-powered rifle. Meanwhile John and Alice sat anxiously in the taxi on their way back to Bart’s.
At 221, Mrs. Hudson gave a mug of tea to the workman as he squatted in the hallway. He took it and smiled gratefully, then picked up one of his tools and put it back into his toolbox. Lying on top of all the other tools was a pistol with a small silencer attached to it. He raised his eyes ominously in the direction of Mrs. H as she went back into 221A.
As the assassin on the staircase continued to assemble his rifle, at Scotland Yard a plain clothed police officer in the general office looked round to Greg’s office with his eyes narrowed as the D.I. speaks on the phone.
On the stairwell, the assassin finished his assembly, opened the nearby window and aimed his gun out of it as the Captains’ taxi got closer and closer to Bart’s.
I'M SO FLUFFING SAD. DON'T KILL ME PLEASE. Enjoy, vote, and comment fun peoples.