So. After that dreadful cliffhanger, which I'm sure had a fair bit of you either biting your nails or cursing my name…I have returned. I've been in school for the past five weeks and I just turned sixteen, so…been busy, sorry. But here I am!


Molly: When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.

Sherlock: Molly.

Molly: You look sad. When you think he can't see you.


Ships in the Night

Balance in the Universe

Bored.

Bored.

He'd shoot a gun if it wouldn't terrify every civilian within a two mile radius.

Sherlock sighed. He took anxious, pacing steps, one two three, to the ledge, off the ledge, to the door, to the ledge, one two three…and he still wasn't here. And Moriarty was punctual, obsessively so.

So why wasn't he here?

Where are you? This waiting game grows tedious.

-SH

The consulting detective sighed, running his fingers through his hair for lack of anything better to do.

It wasn't nearly as soft as Amy's…

He stopped. A frown came across his face as this unwelcome thing came to his mind. He fingered the scarf about his neck. That thought had been completely…unbidden. Distractedly, he filed it into a box labeled 'Elaborate' and made a mental note to do so later.

Moriarty. That was the most prominent issue at hand. James. Moriarty. Sherlock narrowed his eyes impulsively. It was a tricky thing to make him angry, even more so to push him to this degree of ire. And yet Moriarty knew exactly where to get him. To strike at his pride, his loved ones…

Sherlock was seeing red.

But that was simply due to the fact that the scarf was fluttering in his face. Just as he had told Amy it would. God he hoped that she had listened to him. She better have, those instructions were for her protection. Never one to be obedient, Amy had shocked him when she had at least contemplated his warning.

The scarf smacked his face again. He briefly considered removing the offending article, as it was really no use to him anyway when his phone beeped. The wind about the rooftop hushed, as if the entire world was holding its breath in sick anticipation, waiting for the end.

You really should be more careful who little Amy talks to these days.

-M

He froze. And as he turned, the wind blew him the scent of her perfume. That damn bottle of Chanel he had bought her for Christmas last year. "H-Hey Sherlock." Amy didn't stutter. Her words were without fail, without fault, perfect in every sense and filled with Amy confidence. Unless she was afraid. And that time she had been afraid, that crack had been there in her wall all those years ago.

His mind burned with rage and desperation. Sherlock tried to look impassive, and for the life of him, he wasn't sure how he had succeeded. His blue eyes flicked away from her, as if she wasn't there, handcuffed to a railing by Moriarty's side. He focused on Moriarty, Moriarty and that smirk.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock..." He shook his head back and forth. "I thought you were better than this, I really did." He took Amy's face in hand and turned it to the side. "What is this?" Moriarty asked in disdain. "How many more of these things do you have?" Amy sank her teeth into his hand viciously.

"And they're not even trained, for Godssake." His tone dripped with false remorse. Amy smiled at him. He nodded. "But I do approve. She's…fiery." He looked at Sherlock. "I like that in a woman." And in front of him, his temper already wearing thin as it were, Moriarty drew his hand back and slapped her harshly across her face.

The scarf wasn't fluttering in his face this time.

He wasn't sure how Moriarty had ended up on the receiving end of his hands, feet just on the ledge of the building. But there was he, calmly leaning back in front of him, Sherlock's hands clutching his suit. "Sherly, that's enough." Amy said sharply. He was too angry.

Moriarty giggled. "Sherly? Is that what she calls you?" he laughed again and Sherlock pushed him so his toes were all that kept him on the ledge. He looked at him, scandalized and wide-eyed.

"Sherlock, stop." Stern authority dominated her voice.

"You're insane." Sherlock spat. Moriarty looked at him condescendingly. "You're just now figuring that out?" His hands loosened and Moriarty grabbed him.

"Sherlock."

Dammit Amy, you weren't supposed to be here, why were you so stupid, I told you to leave, dammit dammit dammit.

Sherlock reluctantly pulled Moriarty up. "Thank you darling." He smiled at her and Amy looked at him coldly. He soon reverted his gaze to Sherlock once more. "She's got you on a leash, doesn't she?" He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and she kicked him.

"You're dealing with me, Moriarty. Leave her out of this."

"Oh no." Moriarty said, shaking his head. "Oh no no no, she's a part of this too, Sherly." He uttered the nickname with a sickening sweet cruelty. Sherlock looked at him, not comprehending.

"Think of it as a little extra incentive. Your friends will die…" a red dot appeared on Amy's forehead and Sherlock understood. Comprehension made itself painstakingly known on his face. And Moriarty smiled. "If you don't."

The first word that came to his lips was, "John."

"Everyone."

Moriarty smiled at him, a taunting, winning smile that made Sherlock want to wrap his fingers around his throat. He supposed that the anger must have reflected in his eyes and on his face, because Amy look concerned and Moriarty just looked smug.

"But there is a way you know." He said.

"A way to what?" Sherlock ground out. The Cheshire smile only grew larger. "Ah." He said. "Of course." He looked at Moriarty rather anticlimactically. "My suicide." Amy stopped struggling to look at them. She watched as Moriarty led Sherlock, her Sherlock, her best friend, over to that damn ledge. She tensed as they stood there, looking into oblivion, out over a precipice they could only fall over together.

They murmured to each other in low, hushed voices. Sherlock said something, and Moriarty's eyes widened slightly. He gave Sherlock a curt nod and stepped back. He walked over to her, but she had eyes for Sherlock, only Sherlock, that man she had known since childhood, her friend since childhood, someone she loved… "Hey sweetheart." Moriarty leaned nonchalantly towards her against the rail. She couldn't stop staring at Sherlock. Not like this, it couldn't happen like this, Sherlock was too brilliant for this…her eyes flicked to Moriarty in absolute loathing…creature to beat him.

"Wants a moment of privacy." He explained to her as they looked at Sherlock's back. He was talking hastily on a mobile phone. "Not too fond of him now, by the way." Moriarty continued, staring at his nemesis. "You made him like this." He said the last word in distaste. Amy raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't do a thing to him. He's always been a psychopath."

"Yes." Moriarty said in rapturous, quiet scorn. "But you made him human." He grabbed her chin and forced their eyes to meet. "You made him weak. All of this…" he gestured around them with his other hand. "All of this disaster, how pathetically easy it was for me to beat him…" His lips were at her ear. "His death…all of this, every little thing that happens up here…"

"It's happened because of you."

When Amy head butted him and sent him sprawling to the ground, Moriarty hit her head against the metal bar with brute force. The world spun and she struggled to focus. "Much better." He nodded. "I like you better this way, Amelia. Some fires simply need to be put out."

Sherlock began to laugh from the ledge, a low, warm, genuine laugh filled with success and pity. It was cruel, but warm. A freezing, cold laugh, but a gentle, playful one.

"What?" Moriarty asked in irritation. His laugh only got louder. "It's too easy." He said, still chuckling as he stepped back from the ledge.

"WHAT?!" Moriarty roared. He attacked Sherlock, but he evaded it, still chuckling, putting him in a rather loose chokehold. "There's a safe word. One to call the snipers off." Moriarty shoved him off. The two faced each other.

"Jump. Or I will kill her." He pointed to Amy.

Sherlock's grin widened. "Don't worry, Amy." It was the first time he had spoken to her since her capture. His blue eyes were charged again, sparked with that light, bright and excited at the inevitability of victory. Amy could have laughed at the poor consulting criminal. He looked so very bewildered.

"Oh Jim." Sherlock put his hands on Moriarty's shoulders as a father might his son. Moriarty looked at him as if he'd gone barmy. "As long as I have you, no one has to die." A smile lit up his face like Christmas.

Amy felt a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders. The Doctor was wrong, he'd been wrong. Sherlock wouldn't be dying today.

He had challenged time.

He had challenged destiny, and Sherlock Holmes…had won.

When Moriarty began to laugh, they both grew confused. "Oh Sherly." He put his own hands on Sherlock's shoulder. His expression was one of pity. One that said, "You're so cute when you think you've won." And that was exactly what he said.

"What would you possibly do to me?" Moriarty asked, shrugging. "You're boring. Ordinary. You're on the side of the angels." He wrinkled his nose at the very thought.

Sherlock nodded slowly, sympathetically.

Jim bristled at the pity in those blue eyes.

"That may be true, Jim." He leaned in. "But." He whispered into the shorter man's ear.

"Don't think for a second that I am one of them."

He seemed perplexed at his statement.

"Then what are you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

Sherlock looked at the man in front of him with a quiet, triumphant air. "I…"

Moriarty leaned in with subconscious anxiety.

"am you. We are the same, Jim. Identical."

Moriarty smiled. "Nah, you're ordinary."

Sherlock shook his head.

"I am you. Willing to so everything it takes, whatever it takes, to …"

"Bored." They both said in unison.

Moriarty nodded at him. "You're right." He tapped Sherlock's temple twice in rapid succession. "We think exactly the same." A smile spread across his face, slowly, steadily, as a broken ink bottle does across an important letter. He smiled and kissed Sherlock on both cheeks, to his surprise.

"I understand." He said softly. The other two occupants of the rooftop looked at him as if he'd lost it. The wind began to pick up again, tiny whistle rising steadily into a stream of whispers. "Oh thank you, Sherlock Holmes. Thank you." He bowed his head. "Bless you."

"Miss Amelia." He bowed to her as a gentleman. Amy stared at him blankly.

"If we're the same, what am I thinking?"

"I've got a way out." Sherlock said, smiling. "No one has to die today."

"Good boy." Moriarty nodded in approval. "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends."

Amy saw his hand twitch apprehensively as he shook Sherlock's hand. She caught on before he did and called out a warning.

"Well good luck with that!" Sherlock ran for him, but it was too late.

A bang shattered the eerily calm silence surrounding St. Bart's rooftop.

And Jim Moriarty died. He died with that psychotic smile frozen in rigor mortis on his face, that smiled that haunted Sherlock whenever he closed his eyes. The smell of blood choked the air, his brown eyes wide open and staring as a crimson ocean slithered from his blown apart skull.

Jim Moriarty had died.

And with him, he had taken the victory Sherlock had been so sure was in his grasp.

He looked at Amy. Her green eyes were wide, fixed on Moriarty. He swallowed, turning away. He called John in a hurry, darting to the rooftop.

She looked up when he was there, standing there, arm outstretched to someone she couldn't see, voice urgent. "John, stay there. Stay right there, keep your eyes fixed on me."

Amy began to struggle against her cuffs. "Oy, Sherlock let me out! We need to get down from here!"

"Amy, hush." He turned briefly to her. With some shock, she saw that there were tears in his eyes, bright crystalline tears that looked so out of place in them. A few rolled down his cheeks and Amy stopped. "Sherlock…"

He turned back, to look at John, the John he was crying for, crying at. "This phone call…it's my note." Amy narrowed her eyes at him viciously. He wasn't seriously considering…? No. He couldn't be, he wasn't that stupid.

"That's what people do isn't it? Leave a note." His voice was flat.

Sherlock Holmes was not that stupid.

"Goodbye John." He shut the phone briskly and turned to her. She shook her head, slowly, cautiously. "Don't even think about it. Don't be an idiot, Sherlock."

She saw it in his eyes, that noble sacrifice he thought would solve everything.

He saw resolution.

"Amy." His eyes were dry again, a few lingering tears hanging on to his cheeks. He smiled.

"Amy, it's okay. It's alright Amy. Everything…" he looked down. "will be fine."

He turned and smiled at her again.

His eyes were telling her to be strong, she'd be fine, she'd be perfectly fine without him.

They were saying goodbye.

"Sherlock, no. I mean it." She said furiously. He turned his head to look down again.

He shifted and gave her one last look. A single, solitary tear lingered in his eyes. Hers, on the other hand, were filling rapidly and a sob was rising in her throat.

"Sherlock don't."

Sherlock, please don't do this.

Not for me, not for anyone, don't do it, don't please

He gave her a small, wan smile.

"Amelia Pond…Amy. Brilliant Amy."

He stretched his arms wide as if preparing to fly some place. He shifted again and the wind was so strong now, muffled sounds beginning to crescendo into shrieks.

Somewhere, distantly, coming, was a whirring sound over the wind.

"Goodbye."

And he fell.

"Sherlock!"

She struggled again, hearing. The sounds of people gathering, exclaiming in horror. The TARDIS, materializing. The Doctor, throwing open the rooftop door and running to her side. Moments later. Moments too late.

"Doctor." She murmured dully. Her eyes were shiny, fixed on the spot he had just jumped from. "Save him." The Doctor simply checked her for injury, running a hand through his hair in agitation and murmuring soothing words to her.

Amy dimly felt tears trailing down her cheeks.

Those hands, whose touch she always yearned for, now felt cold. They flitted anxiously over her body, her forehead, her arms, at her side. He gripped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, moving in front of her view. She was now well aware of the tears. "Amy, Amy, oh Amelia, I'm so so so sorry…" She didn't care about his pity.

Sherlock. She wanted Sherlock.

Her best friend…

The Doctor sonicked her handcuffs.

"Let's go."

Amy wrenched herself from his embrace and went to the ledge.

"SHERLOCK!" She cried, leaning over. Sherlock, no, it wasn't…it couldn't be… no no no no no "no no no" Amy found herself whispering over and over.

It would bring him back.

He wasn't dead.

Blood, so much blood…

That wasn't him lying there. That wasn't his blood.

So much blood, his head, oh god, the blood, she could see it from here.

Sherlock was…

"Amelia, come away."

"No."

"Amy, come on."

"No. Doctor…no." Her voice cracked on the last word. The Doctor grabbed her arms, pulling her to him, trying to pull her away. She hit at him. "Go back!" she shouted. He pulled her towards the stairs, arms wrapped about her waist as she kicked. "Go back and save him!"

She broke free of him and ran.

She ran downstairs so fast, down to the pavilion.

If she hurried…he'd be down there. He'd be down there laughing at her, excitedly explaining how it had all been a trick… Those eyes would light up, those beautiful eyes that were so alive when they were clever… He'd laugh and say, "C'mon Amy. The game is on!" and he'd run… he'd dash off ecstatically, looking like a nut in that coat flapping behind him and his scarf fluttering in the breeze.

That couldn't be him.

"He's my friend, let me through…"

Had she or John said that? They pushed through. Blood, so much blood. A woman she didn't know pulled her back and away from him. Sherlock. His eyes, wide, staring, blank, that spark dead and gone… "oh Jesus…" John, dazed and muttering, feeling his pulse…Paramedics, doctors, complete strangers who had never even known him pushed them back.

And he was taken away.

Just like that.

He was whisked away as if he didn't matter. Those blue eyes wide open, seeing, not observing, that wonderfully clever brain, caved in.

Amy felt a strangled sob escape her lips. She couldn't look away from that sight. Sherlock…on a stretcher. Being sheparded away to some morgue, some cold place where he would be more alone than ever, cut up, buried….

"Amy, Amy…" The Doctor brought her to his arms and that's when she fully began to cry. Restrained sobs that would only be unleashed when he finally left her alone. It began to rain. And Sherlock's blood was washed away, simply swept away as if he had never existed…as if the man known as the world's only consulting detective had been a mere thought, a fleeting idea that was deemed too much for this world and therefore ripped from it.

The Doctor brought her into the TARDIS, struggling. "Doctor, take me to him. Please. Take me back!"

He shook his head sadly.

"Doctor, please!"

"Amelia." He took her face in his hands and sat her down. The TARDIS dematerialized from that damn place, from that cursed time. "This was supposed to happen. And I am sorry, I am so so sorry…" A few tears lingered on her cheeks, green eyes wide and pained. "but Sherlock can't come back. Not this time."

He moved to embrace her, but she went off to her room.

Not Sherlock. Anyone but him, anyone, please not him not him not him never Sherlock

If only she had stayed in Leadworth. If only she had listened to the Doctor when he wouldn't take her back. If only she had been around more. If only she had listened to Sherlock and left…

She locked her door and cried. The Doctor stayed in the console room. She threw her face in her hands and cried. The sobs that eventually fought their way to the surface were raw and heartbroken. For once, grief laid bare on her normally happy person, harsh and despaired.

He couldn't take it.

He stood outside her room for five minutes, hand poised to knock. Trying to figure out how to comfort her.

Trying to gather up the courage to go inside.

His ears took in her every cry, every sob that came from the lips of someone who was ordinarily so carefree and playful. Every sound of grief that came from smiling, laughing lips seemed to sound…wrong.

That couldn't be Amy.

It wasn't her.

So he left.

The next morning, Amy awoke from a dreamless slumber. She showered, she dressed, and she tried to put on a typical Amy grin. It seemed…strained. It couldn't quite stay properly on her face. But she still tried.

When Amy found what she deemed either a very poor smile, or a very grand grimace, she squared her shoulders and marched towards the console room.

"Doctor?" She cursed her hoarse voice. "Doctor, where are you?" She leaned against the console impatiently. Sexy whirred. They must still be floating around in the universe somewhere.

"Amelia?"

"Yea Amelia, now where are you hidin'? I want to go somewhere spacey!" Amy drew out the last word with a rambunctious flair. She turned and grinned at the sound of his voice.

"Amy! You're up, oh this is wonderful!" The Doctor grinned. He was careful with his words. He took caution to not say Sherlock, Moriarty, death, or squishy rubber ball in his conversation. Some things just didn't need to be said at the current time.

Instead he smiled.

"Where ya wanna go, Pond?" The Doctor pulled the monitor down. "Aztec civilization at its' peak…?" The image flashed by.

"First human colony to successfully start a colony on Mars, at least to my knowledge?" The tall man turned and winked at her. "Didn't work out so great the last time. Gave me a new face. New teeth." He ran his tongue over them, curious look on his face. Amy laughed. "Well, I like your face."

She directed her attention to an odd little thing sitting on the console.

"Doctor?"

"Hm?" He said distractedly, sifting through pictures on the monitor.

"What's this doin' here?"

"Hm?" The Doctor looked. "Hm. Ah, OH, that. He wrenched it from her grasp, examining it closely. "THAT...Is a coffee cup, Pond. Decided to try this stuff…" he licked the inside of it curiously.

And threw it outside.

"And that was why it was on the monitor." The Doctor started rubbing his tongue with both hands. "Ghastly stuff. Bad, bad coffee."

Amy laughed.

"Well it was black, you know." A voice uttered smoothly from the hallway.

She blinked, and looked incredulously.

"Oh hush." The Doctor flapped a hand at him, looking through more destinations. "You should know better than to leave it out."

"If I had known you were going to throw it into space, I wouldn't have left it out."

"But I thought you were the Grand Deducer." The Doctor remarked.

The voice fell silent.

Amy simply stood there, blank faced. Her green eyes were the only things that moved. They blinked. The Doctor threw her a glance before turning to the hallway.

"You might as well come out now. No use hiding from her anymore." The tall man grimaced. "Believe me, she is champ at hide and seek."

A low, baritone chuckle swept through the TARDIS.

Footsteps.

And out of the shadows stepped black pants, a white shirt, black coat, and red scarf.

"Hello Amy."

She stared. His voice was low, cautious, every bit as wonderful as she remembered it to be. His eyes were careful, bright blue locked doors as unreadable as they had always been. Amy stared. And stared. This was certainly something she wanted in her brain forever.

Once she woke up, of course.

He made no motion to move closer. Nor did she.

"Doctor?" she turned to her friend, breaking the spell. "Question." The Doctor turned to her from his work, fiddling with a gizmo of some sort. "Yes?" he asked, smiling. She was surprised, she was so surprised that she was completely…emotionless. His smile faded a bit.

Sherlock cautiously approached the pair.

"Are there more Dream Lord dust particle things in the TARDIS again?" His happy expression morphed to confusion at her question. Worriedly, the Doctor glanced at Sherlock. He was watching them quietly, observing. Bracing himself it seemed.

He looked back to Amy. She was expectantly gazing at him.

"Don't think so, why?"

And that was when she pushed Sherlock out into deep space.


You like? I like. Tell me what you liked, and even what you didn't like! I'm trying to build up my constructive criticism tolerance! Review if you please, they make my day. I'll dedicate the next chapter to the first reviewee…and it's just awesome.

Bye!