Oof, school has been taxing. D: The good news is that I'm now on summer break, and I can actually get back to sleep- Never mind, I still have college applications to do. In other news, I got to watch Sherlock Holmes yesterday.. A Game of Shadows was really good. Go watch it!

And without any further ado... Here is my new fic, inspired by two lines and one of the final scenes.

WARNING: This contains spoilers from the new Sherlock Holmes movie (A Game of Shadows). I'm not even kidding, what you may read may ruin a plot point for you. TURN AWAY NOW if you haven't watched it :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except the bowl of macaroni and cheese I am about to consume.

"What do you see?"

"Everything. That is my curse."

The words spoken to Sim early on resonated in Sherlock Holmes's ears, and he found them ironic as he faced down Moriarty. He saw the rage in his adversary's eyes, dimly repressed as the fa├žade of calm slowly chipped down second by second; he saw the index finger of Moriarty's left hand as it slowly curled inwards- a sure sign that the man was contemplating his next move.

He could feel it then, palpitating in the air beside him and heavy on his aching shoulder. It was a sense of desperation, rushing headlong into the next moment like a freight train bound for utter destruction. At the end of the night, Holmes- with that awful sense of security in his knowledge- knew that one of them would be dead and he had a strong suspicion that it would be him, since his pained shoulder almost guaranteed it.

His memory pulled up the exact same expression on Moriarty's face, back in the library so many days ago when he had pleasantly remarked, "Best wishes to Mr. Watson."

Watson. Holmes felt his heart constrict at the thought of any harm befalling his valuable companion and his new wife Mary. He had seen everything, of course- even the most dimwitted of detectives could see that Watson was irrevocably in love with Mary, and Mary with he. It was so painfully obvious, especially to the greatest of detectives- the way Watson's eyes brightened when they saw his lover, the way he caught his breath when Mary neared. Holmes saw everything, since it was not his nature to ignore the obvious- but, he admitted to himself on that cold balcony in Switzerland, perhaps it was because he could not bear the thought of Watson leaving his company that he had pushed all thoughts of the marriage aside.

Marriage. His thoughts flickered briefly to the woman who had, for the briefest of moments, caused him to contemplate the concept and who now lay dead in a shallow grave somewhere in Europe. He could almost feel Irene's handkerchief in his pocket, burning the linen with a sharp ache for vengeance against the man who stood in front of him, but he resisted the urge to lash out. Moriarty had to make the first move- he had to-

And make the first move he did. The professor was on him in a moment, fists flying and rage now enumerated in every line on his face, and it was all Holmes could do to block the blows. Survival for Watson and Irene was what Holmes saw in front of him, they had be safe, the must be safe, his mind reasoned in a rare, agitated state- but then the door opened, and time seemed to slow for Holmes.

Watson stepped out, and Holmes was dimly aware of the terrified screaming and keening that was going on behind him. Rene was dead, his mind logically assumed- unsurprising since the professor never left loose ends. But Holmes was an observer by nature- even while his right hand came up to block Moriarty's punch, he saw Watson's eyes widen at the scene. He saw Watson's hand move to where his pistol was located, he saw Watson's mouth open as though to shout his name.

But Holmes saw much more than that.

He saw a lifetime of unspoken words between the two men, words that could have made their friendship even more valuable than it was at the moment. He saw Watson and Mary in his mind's eye, sharing a laugh over tea by the fireplace as they petted their (still alive) dog. He saw a life without him constantly dragging them into his escapade, a life where Watson was happy.

Then in a fraction of a split second, Holmes imagined a life with Irene, a life full of mad rushes, chases and sweet laughter at the end of a journey. It would always be a journey of puzzles, riddles, and double crossing- but it would be a life of adventure. Holmes saw all the possibilities of another life, a life where he would be happy- though what was that life without his faithful companion? A life where he would be happy, but Watson would not be.

Holmes saw all the possibilities. That is my curse. There could only be one who would be happy in this situation, and Holmes knew- with that point of certainty he brought to his investigations- that Watson would be happiest with Mary.

Still, even as he wrapped his legs around Moriarty and began to lean backwards, he saw Watson's eyes darken with the knowledge of what Holmes was about to do. And as he began to fall backwards, he imagined that Watson was yelling his name, telling him to stop, Holmes, what are you doing- and he tried to yell an apology, explain what he was doing, that this was for Watson's own good. But no words came out- and now he couldn't see anything because the air was cold and they were falling at a velocity that Holmes did not fully appreciate.

When Holmes could no longer see, he let his mind wander. And somehow, as he fell past miles of rushing water, Moriarty's desperate screams echoing into the caverns of unexplored terrain, he had never felt so sure of anything in his life. Moriarty would die. Watson would live. Watson would be happy. And Holmes would have had it no other way.

As he fell- and heavens, he was getting close to the river below, he could almost hear the water rushing over the rocks- he thought he heard a familiar woman's laugh ripple through the canyon. And so Holmes smiled, somehow figuring out that maybe this was for the best. This way, both of them could be happy.

Then he hit the water, and his sight vanished.

Let me know what you think :) Love y'all!