The shot of Sherlock's gun rang out loudly over the dull, gray cityscape. Moriarty lay flat on practically the edge of the roof, possibly dead. John's eyes were bewildered and wide open in shock. Sherlock watched to see if a puddle of blood would appear under his nemesis' body. John had backed all the way behind his friend at that point and waited for anything to happen.
There was an echoing groan before a struggling voice spoke, "Well-played, very well-played indeed."
Moriarty turned over and stood up with a smug look, "But not good enough" he said sing-song.
"Shit." John muttered.
"If I survived my own suicide shot, how would I not survive yours, Sherlock?" He asked.
"Because you faked the first one."
"Now how exactly did I do it? Or did you not work it out?"
"Sorry, I was too busy deconstructing your global empire of criminal activities." Sherlock replied sarcastically.
"I best be going now, sorry I can't stay." John spoke up and grabbed the door handle as quickly as possible, scurrying off to his home.
"Aww, I scared poor Dr. Watson. Looks like the military didn't toughen him up enough..." Moriarty pouted.
"This isn't about him. This is just between me and you."
"Protective, aren't we? But I'll agree, ordinary people need protection from big, bad guys like me and John is a nice, ordinary person. His caring nature should be preserved so I could destroy it afterwards and have so much fun watching what kind of a person he would be without it."
"And how...exactly would you do that?" Sherlock questioned pausing briefly after each word again.
"Easily, my dear. You see-" Jim began.
The door was dramatically flung open again and this time, it was Irene. Just like the first time. An hour had simply slipped away from the men on the rooftop, fighting their battles against each other. But this time, Irene had one handful of notes and another hand holding a gun.
"Which one of you shall I kill?" She asked seriously.
Both men whipped out their firearms from their coat pockets, pointing them towards the deceptive woman. The money was stuffed into her pocket so her hand could hold onto the gun for stability. She pointed it towards Sherlock first, feeling more mistrust towards him while starting to weigh her options.
"Let's see...Sherlock, you listen to what I say, correct?"
He nodded very slowly and furrowed his brows in confusion.
"And Moriarty offered me thousands of pounds per two chapters written."
Her frame was perfectly in position as her eyes drifted upwards in thought. But she was taking too long to think and was acting recklessly in Moriarty's opinion. His gun was speedily cocked back and he fired at her, the impact of the bullet tearing apart about three centimeters of her throat and sending blood flying everywhere. Irene's body fell backwards and she lay motionlessly with dazed eyes on the ground while a pool of dark red spilled continuously from her partially-existant neck.
"Well, that was simple." Moriarty admitted while snatching up the notes from her dead body.
But once he pivoted around, Sherlock had disappeared and the door had just closed, signalling that he had made his great escape a split-second ago. The psychopathic criminal shrugged his shoulders with a neutral expression, placing his hands into his pant pockets. Meanwhile, Sherlock was racing down flights of stairs until he was outside of the hospital and inside of a black cab. He opened up a new text message to worrysome John-
Not dead. The Woman killed. Moriarty alive.
SH.
During the wild turn of events with the detective, consulting criminal, and seductive woman, John had rushed back to his home's safety. He enveloped his wife and son in a warm embrace, feeling so grateful to be alive with such a lovely family he could call his own. They ate dinner together and watched a few shows and movies on the telly. Until a firm knock on the door interrupted their evening. John went to answer it, being very careful in checking to see who it was before opening the door.
"Ah, good evening, Mycroft." He greeted politely, welcoming him inside.
"Yes, and to you as well, John." Mycroft formally replied.
"So, would you like anything?"
"No, I'm here to discuss a topic with you concerning my younger brother."
"Alright. Come into the office room and we can talk there." John urged.
As soon as they were both seated comfortably, Mycroft checked the time on his watch, as if on a tight schedule for some event. He glanced back up, expectantly at John.
"Any updates?" Mycroft questioned.
"Uh...Irene Adler was killed after a meeting with Moriarty and Sherlock was fine."
"I don't care about The Woman, I'm interested in only my kin."
"He's...good. You seem stressed, what's on your mind?"
"Nothing at all. Just an arranged dinner."
"Oh, that's...nice." John nodded.
Mycroft sat boredly for a few moments, staring at the blank, white walls then stood up and waved goodbye to the Watson's when he left for his dinner. John locked the door and sat back down with his happy family members.
"What was that about?" Mary said.
"Just worrying over his brother."
"Oh, okay. Is everything alright?"
"By our definitions, yes. We're all fine."
"You said you were fine when your best friend was killed. Tell me about what happened."
"We got a visit from Jim Moriarty and Irene Adler. She was shot and killed. Jim is alive and so is Sherlock; we're all fine." John said, completely exasperated.
"Oh my God, John Hamish Watson. You call a woman dying and a psychopath who ruined your life popping back into your life "alright"? John, that is not-" Mary began to ramble.
"Yes, Mary! You know how my life has been since I met Sherlock! He and I are still alive, its all perfectly fine." He sighed.
Young Daniel started wimpering, feeling unhappy about his parents' argument and waddled out of the room with tears in his eyes. Mary took her head in her hands and felt guilty for making her son upset. John turned around and walked after his son, seeing if he could comfort him.
A few silent tears spilled out of Mary's eyes once her husband left the living room. Her emotions had gotten the best of her and it was all released in tsunami tides, taking over her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. Her relationship with her husband was starting to fall apart, there was just something wrong. He was a wonderful person, and she knew it, but they still had the most absurd disagreements which led to them not speaking for a while and making Daniel cry occasionally. It pained her so much to cry weakly like she was.
