I won't kill you. (SherlockxMoriarty, violent)

Sherlock frowned a little, wondering what 'thing' Moriarty could possibly have with his brother...He was bluffing surely, unless there was something Mycroft wasn't telling him....which wouldn't be that much of a surprise, he did love his little secretive activities, although it didn't make sense why they would ever release Moriarty if they had him behind bars at some stage. Surely they could have used torture to extract a confession that could land him behind bars? His mind raced...

Sherlock already knew how this game ended. One of us has to die. And it's not going to be me.
"Do enlighten me," he said aloud.

Moriarty already started to turn his back. "No one on the streets believe you. Escaping could be an option, but as soon as anyone sees you, you'll be turned in again. There's only one way out." His back now fully turned to Sherlock, ready to leave. "You have until 7pm this evening to do it. Otherwise your little friend upstairs will receive a lethal dose of his daily painkillers." He glanced over his shoulder.

Sherlock listened to the words and began to process them. What did he mean?

"Do it?" He asked. "Do what?" Then it dawned on him, and the pieces fell into place like a jigsaw. "Aaaah, of course. You want me to kill myself. The only way to end this is by one of us dying and if I don't kill myself you'll kill John and seeing as I have no career to go back to then why not, right? What would be the point of living without my best friend and my job? That's it, isn't it? Our final problem."

"Just so." He said in his typical sing song voice before he reached the door. "7pm, Sherlock. I'll be watching." and then he disappeared again.

Sherlock's first instinct was to jump Moriarty from behind, drag him back inside and kill him with his bare hands but he knew already why that strategy wouldn't work. As far as the police outside were concerned, Moriarty was his lawyer, and if he was half as good as Sherlock gave him credit for, he'd probably have the documents and papers to back up his little lawyer story, making it more believable. Then Sherlock would be done for murder as well as everything else and John would still die. No. That was no good. He watched incensed as Moriarty walked out and disappeared down the corridor. He allowed it to happen. He allowed the smarmy police officer to come back into the room, to make some comment about "don't know why you bothered getting dressed, you're not going anywhere. Except maybe a prison cell." He allowed himself to lie back down on the bed as if nothing had happened. He allowed himself to close his eyes. Then he switched on his mind and began to think, running through every possible situation and scenario and any problems that might arise from following that path. He laid them all out in a logical order, calmly and efficiently.

Option 1
Go upstairs right now and tell John everything, leading to several further options:

• John discharges himself from the hospital and goes home to Baker Street.
  Problem: Sherlock will still have to kill himself otherwise Moriarty will just track down John at home and have him killed there
  
• John discharges himself and goes to stay somewhere else.
  Problem: Moriarty said he'd be watching. He could easily have John's cab followed and if Sherlock didn't carry through on the suicide John could still be killed
  
• John has a police officer sit with him all night.
  Problem: Sherlock didn't trust any of the police officers. At least one of them was in Moriarty's pay roll. Plus, if his death is going to be caused through an overdose or a corruption of his medicine then it must mean one of the nurses is under Moriarty's pay roll too, and seeing as there's no way of telling who that is, it's too risky a strategy.
  
• John has Sherlock sit with him all night.
  Problem: This is better, but still doesn't solve the problem of the killer nurse. Plus, the police wouldn't let him sit with John all night.
  
• John has Lestrade sit with him all night and doesn't allow anyone to give him any medication
  Problem: Even though Lestrade can be trusted, he can't be trusted not to fall asleep, at which point the nurse could sneak in and administer the deadly dose. Plus, it would involve John being in considerable pain all night without his medication.
  

With too many risks involved, Sherlock silently ruled out Option 1. He might go and see John later, but there was no point worrying him with any of this. He turned his attention to Option 2.
Option 2
Escape from the hospital and go on the run, complete with the following sub-options and scenarios:

• Escape on his own
  Problem: John would still be killed
  
• Escape with John
  Problem: With John in a wheelchair this might be difficult, and even if they could pull it off, they had nowhere to go. Either the police or Moriarty would catch up with them. If Sherlock ended up in prison it would be easier for Moriarty to target John and any other of Sherlock's friends and associates
  

Sherlock sighed, finding his mind against a brick wall. The situation was an impossible one. The only other option was to leave his best friend to die, escape on his own and try to outrun the police, get the next train to Paris, disappear. But that wasn't even an option. He'd decided quite some time ago that he wouldn't want to live in a world that didn't have John Watson in it.
The only sure way to keep his friends safe was to kill himself. Sherlock would quite happily die for John, but not if he didn't have to. He didn't want to die. He certainly didn't want to die in disgrace and he didn't want to let Moriarty have the last laugh. No. The idea was absurd. Moriarty said he'd be watching, but how? Would he hide himself somewhere? Or have some of his men around watching, reporting back? Hidden cameras perhaps? And how was he to kill himself? What would Moriarty expect him to do? Could he play a trick on him somehow? Make him believe he was dead when really he wasn't? Over the next half an hour Sherlock ran these thoughts and many others over and over in his mind.

-text to Sherlock from unknown number.-
Tick tock, tick tock......

Sherlock read the text message and checked his watch. The clock was indeed, ticking. He was fast running out of time and he still hadn't decided upon a decent enough plan. He knew he had many resources at his disposal, and should indeed be able to trick Moriarty by faking his own death. The question was, how? He would have to make it believable enough so that Moriarty wouldn't question it.

He also knew he wouldn't be able to leave the hospital so that narrowed down the options. He couldn't for example, pretend to shoot himself in the head...because he had no gun. He could in theory overdose himself on drugs but that would mean having to steal drugs and then having to actually take them, or at least put them in his mouth. Moriarty said he'd be watching...but how, how was he watching? What other ways could a person kill themselves round here? He couldn't even get hold of any decent enough knives for a slashed wrist job.

He'd already figured out that being at St Barts was his biggest advantage. However he decided to do it, he intended to nip down and see Molly before hand, speak to her about providing a fake dead body and doctoring the autopsy reports. The only trick then was making his death realistic and believable enough...so that if someone was watching they'd truly believe he was dead.

And then there was the question of what would happen afterwards. He couldn't exactly just fake his own death then go back to Baker Street in time for tea. He'd have to leave. He'd have to go somewhere else entirely. Another town, another country in fact. He'd have to lie low...wait for all this press attention to die down. And track down all of Moriarty's gang in secret, picking them off one by one. He smiled as he relished the thought. No one would ever suspect a dead man....His heart panged a little, thinking of John. He knew he'd have to leave John behind...at least for the time being. It was for his own good. Sherlock wasn't exactly a safe man to be around anymore. He knew it would distress John to believe he was dead...but it's better that than John being dead himself, he reasoned. And he knew one day he'd be able to come back. At least, he hoped he would.

Sherlock sighed and got out of bed. He walked towards the window and stared down onto the busy road beneath. Then he took out John's phone and sent a text to Mycroft.



(( can't decide whether to stick with the rooftop?? ))

Sherlock was staring out of the window, day dreaming, watching the traffic and people pass by underneath. He slowly began to smile...an idea forming at the back of his mind. He glanced over to the policeman and said he needed to go and get a shower. That should give him half an hour maximum before they started to get suspicious. Thank God he was allowed to go the bathroom on his own these days. He grabbed his towel and left the room, immediately dumping the towel in the nearest bin before heading downstairs to the morgue for a quick chat with Molly.

Before he left, he gave her John's phone...and told her to return it to him, then asked if he could take hers. She said yes, of course. Sherlock said goodbye and headed for the fire exit, feeling a lot more confident about the whole affair. There were a hell of a lot of stairs to climb, but he couldn't risk being seen in the corridors or taking the lift. Halfway up he paused, took out Molly's phone and sent a text to Moriarty.

Meet you on the rooftop? -SH

Moriarty was already on his way to the hospital. He had cameras set in Sherlock's room in case he decided to take his own life inside his room. Fairly enough, he didn't. Before Moriarty even received the text, he already knew Sherlock was gone. He either tried to escape, leaving John to die or otherwise he'd gone somewhere to do as James told him. The buzz of his phone would probably give him the answer.

A grin parted his lips, still leaving his jaw to ache, as he opened and read the text. A rooftop? How dramatic. How perfectly chosen. He held on to his phone as he got of the taxi, now parked in front of St. Barts Hospital. Just before getting into the elevator James pocketed his phone again after he replied.

-Text-
On my way. Expect me very soon.
JM. Xx

Wearing his most expensive, custom made westwood suite he admired himself in the elevator's mirror, fixing his hair one final time before stepping out at the highest floor. Now all that was separating him from Sherlock was one final staircase, along with the door leading to the rooftop. He started to walk up humming a happy song. His hands reaching to the door knob, he hesitated a second. A slight laugh rolled of his lips and he turned the knob, making the door open. With a lot of confident and still humming he took his first steps onto the rooftop, eyes searching for Sherlock.

Sherlock was perched on the edge of the rooftop, looking down onto the street below. He'd been sat there about five minutes waiting, and had passed the time by scanning through Molly's phone and playing some of the terrible music she had on there. Some shit by the Bee Gees...Staying Alive....how appropriate, he thought bitterly. He turned it off as he heard the door to the fire exit click open, and glanced up to see Moriarty standing there all dolled up in his best suit.

Sherlock stood up off the ledge and walked over to greet him with a grim smile. "Glad you could make it."

Eyes traveled over Sherlock's body as they spotted him. Still humming the song he stepped closer until their faces were only inches apart.

"Wouldn't want to miss this for the world." He said serious, but clearly something playful came through his voice.

Sherlock walked right up to Moriarty and they stood at the centre of the rooftop, facing each other. Sherlock was hoping he looked scared enough to be convincing although having said that, he /was/ actually quite nervous. This whole thing had been so hastily planned it could still conceivably go wrong.

"Well it looks like you've finally beaten me Jim. I...I don't know what to say."

"Hmmmmmyes. Most certain looks like it." He said with a raw voice. "Perhaps some final words would be in order." His eyes scanned over the whole surface of Sherlock's face while he kept a slight grin on his face all of the time.

Sherlock walked to the edge and peered over nervously. It was a hell of a long way down. He really wasn't looking forward to this. What if something went wrong? He could just about make out his people getting into position down below.

He strolled back towards Moriarty. "I've got nothing to say to you," he said coldly. "But if you don't mind I'd like to make a phone call. I...I need to say goodbye to John." And he meant it. He really did need to say goodbye.

"I'll prepare for heartbreak." He said sarcastically, but backing off at the same time. Other than he was heartless, he would have the heart to let Sherlock say his goodbye. Perhaps only because it added more drama to the whole scene.

"I'll be just around the corner." He said, when he walked into the fire exit again.

At least Moriarty had the decency to give him a bit of privacy, he thought bitterly. This was going to be a difficult conversation. His hand shook a little as he removed the phone from his pocket and typed in John's number. He glanced up at Moriarty, silently watching him from over by the fire exit, then held the phone to his ear as it began to rang, waiting for John to pick up.


(( We need our Johnny boy back! ))

When Molly brought back his phone, he knew it was not a good thing. He could tell by the way she wasn't looking at him that there was something wrong, maybe it was the fact that she knew about his leg, or maybe it was something about Sherlock, he didn't dare ask, he knew he wouldn't like the answer either way.

As much as he kept thinking about the situation they were in, no possible solution came to him, and he was starting to worry when Sherlock did not call nor visit.

He knew something was happening, but he was not allowed to be part of it.
He knew it was a feeling he should get used to, especially now that he could not walk. Sherlock was bound to leave him behind.
Little did he know about what really was ahead.

When the phone rang, he picked it up quickly, one part of him knew it was Sherlock, and there was panic in his voice when he spoke.
"Hallo?"

Sherlock had begun pacing the rooftop, afraid that John wouldn't answer...perhaps Molly hadn't given him the phone back yet? It was such a relief to hear his voice, followed by the immediate sense of dread at knowing what he was about to do.

"John? John it's me. You have to listen to me. We haven't got much time." He was unable to hide the emotion in his voice. He glanced over at Moriarty and told himself he had to stay strong.

John's heart leaped to his throat, beating painfully, making it impossible for his voice not to shake.

"Where are you Sherlock? What's wrong?" he asked, he needed to know more, he needed to know Sherlock was fine. He felt like the world was spinning too fast for him to follow.

"There'll be a nurse come into your room shortly to take you outside," Sherlock explained. "I need you to see me. I need to see you John...I can't do this until I've seen you." Until I've said goodbye. Sherlock's voice shook as he spoke. Why was this so bloody hard?

He licked his dry lips and walked once more to the edge of the roof, glancing over.

John felt his throat go dry, why did Sherlock sound so desperate? The nurse was there though, without a word, she was pushing him towards the exit.
What was going on?

"Where are you Sherlock? What do you mean? What do you have to do?" he asked, and once they were in the parking lot he looked at the people walking around, where was Sherlock?
"I am out Sherlock... tell me what's going on..."

Sherlock peered over the ledge and saw John wheeled out by the nurse. He waited a moment until she'd got him into the agreed position, then he stood up onto the ledge.

"OK. Look up. I'm on the roof."

John was dreading this, he knew that if he looked up it'd be the beginning of the end.

He did look up though, he knew he had to, there was nothing he could do.
Sherlock was on the ledge, up up where he couldn't reach him.

"Sherlock," he croaked, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock could see from his vantage point that John was now looking up at him, the phone pressed to his ear. It occured to him that he hadn't really thought too much about what he was going to say. He knew John would never believe that he would kill himself for no reason. It just wasn't in Sherlock's character to do something like that. And John knew him pretty well. He'd considered telling him the truth - that he had to pretend to die or Moriarty would have John killed, that it was the only way to get him off their backs for good, that if Moriarty believed him to be dead he could go undercover and track down more members of his criminal web. But he'd also considered that if Moriarty believed for one second that Sherlock was still alive, he would go after John and anyone else Sherlock had ever been close to. The emotions, the pain, the hurt - they had to be real; otherwise Moriarty would see right through them. He was too smart.

"John, I need you to listen to me. I need you to listen very carefully," he began. "The things they're saying about me in the papers...about me helping Moriarty...they're..." he paused slightly, hating himself for what he was about to say. "They're all true. I did help him, I've been working with him for some time, he did the crimes I solved them it was...it was a game we were playing, I...I've lied to you John..." There was something blurring Sherlock's vision. He realised with surprise that he was crying, genuinely crying, for the first time in years.

Sherlock was a dark shadow on top of St. Barts, so fragile against the wind, John could not breathe, scared to death things would end before he could do anything.

The words felt like they were coming from another world, he could not believe it was happening. "What are you trying to do Sherlock?" He breathed out, his brain dizzy with all the things he wanted to say.

"I don't... you never worked for Moriarty, he was menacing you. You were protecting /me/," he protested. What was going on? What was happening?