As the silence dragged on, John grew more and more agitated. There was only so much cleaning he could do and telly didn't provide the distraction it used to. His thoughts centered on Sherlock and how he was handling the information John had unceremoniously dumped on him. But as always, Sherlock didn't give anything away, simply sitting there with his eyes closed. The silence grew more pronounced with each passing minute and John wished for nothing more than to go out of the flat and away from all of this. But he didn't dare leave, worried who might be there when Sherlock opened his eyes.

Sherlock was upset. This was why he kept people at arm's length. Because in the end, they let you down, lied to you. Sherlock had been certain John was different. Everything they experienced together, Sherlock thought he knew the man. But he didn't even know himself. Maybe that was why he was upset. Because in the end, John and Mycroft knew him better than he knew himself. And for a man who was always in control, that was the most terrifying situation of all.

The mind palace was different now. No longer just a building, it had expanded to include all of London. St. Bart's, he thought to himself, glancing around the lab he spent so much time in. Makes sense. Examining, researching, searching. Those would all fit in a lab setting. John was there too. His conscious? John had always been his conscious since the moment they met. Oh, and mind palace John was yelling at him. Whatever it was, he probably deserved it.

"You machine." John is quite angry. "Sod this. Sod this. You stay here if you want, on your own."

Need to respond, need to make him leave so Sherlock can meet Jim. "Alone is what I have. Alone protects me."

In the end, John settled himself on the couch, assuming Sherlock's usual position stretched out and staring at the ceiling. He couldn't even bring himself to leave the room so he would simply wait. Eventually, one of his two lovers would come back and whichever one it was, John would deal with it when it happened. He could do nothing to change the outcome now. Now, it was simply up to Sherlock.

Jim smirked as he received the text. Clever Sherlock. A public place where there would still be no witnesses. The perfect location for their final problem. All these years of dancing around each other but never meeting. Ever since young Carl Powers. They would finally meet and Jim's life – as well as the world – would finally be rid of Sherlock Holmes.

A few more calls placed and everything was in position. Knowing there was nothing more to be done, Jim made his way to the roof, his favourite song still playing in his head. John was in the stairwell, biding his time, ready to take out Sherlock's beloved man if he dared interfere with their meeting.

"Ah ha ha ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive." John jolted up, hearing the first sounds from his lover in almost four hours. Whatever was going on inside that brilliant head, Jim seemed to have the upper hand right now. Sherlock hadn't moved, hadn't even twitched. Only his mouth moved, just enough to whisper-sing those few words. How John hated that song.

Only then did he allow himself to consider what life would be like if Jim was victorious. They would have to move, that much is certain. Mrs. Hudson knew about the personalities, but she was the only one outside the family. Greg would be obligated to arrest him. There would be a trial and press. "Sherlock Holmes – Fraud!" John could see it now. They would never live a normal life again here in London. Jim had connections all over the world, though. They could travel – disappear. Harry would hardly notice his absence and Sarah would probably find a doctor more willing to work within the schedule she asked.

But after leaving Afghanistan, John never intended to live anywhere besides London again. This was home and he hated the idea of giving it up. He would, for Sherlock (or Jim, in that case) but it was a sacrifice he hoped he wouldn't have to make.

"Come on, Sherlock," he muttered. "Beat the bastard and come back to me."

"You don't look like me." It was the first thing Sherlock noticed. Was this the way Jim saw himself? Did he even see Sherlock when he looked in the mirror? Questions he wanted answered. But Jim wasn't interested in the same thing, which struck Sherlock as odd."I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock. It took this long for you to finally invite me to meet you. Here I thought we were friends." Jim shoved his hands into his pockets, looking as comfortable as can be.

That was when it finally dawned on him, "You don't know. You didn't know any more than I did. But the difference is now that I do and you don't."

"What are you prattling on about? I beat you. I beat you and you now need to play you part. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it."

"Do what?" Sherlock asked, looking around for any sort of clue what Jim was talking about. "Yes, of course. My suicide." Jim thought this was real. Jim didn't know. Sherlock needed to keep him talking to not let him find out.

"'Genius detective proved to be a fraud.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales. Once you are out of the way, I will go back to playing with the ordinary people. To start with, your people. Your friends."

"I don't have friends." The words fell easily from his mouth and Sherlock remembered a time when he thought them to be true. "And you're insane. What happens if I don't?"

"Your friends will die if you don't."

Sherlock felt a momentary stab of fear. John. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. Were they safe? What had he done while Jim was in control? For all he knew, he had made these arrangements in real life. But this Jim didn't realize that none of this was real. And so Sherlock relaxed, circling him, challenging him as they bantered back and forth. Finally, in control and Jim knew it.

An insane light sparkled in Jim's eyes as he looked at the other man who shared his body without ever realizing. "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me." His laugh was high-pitched and deranged. "You're me! Thank you! Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock looked to see Jim offering his hand to shake. "Jim Moriarty," he nodded, taking the hand in his own. Here he was, shaking hands with the man he had wanted to meet for so long and if things went the way he thought, this would be the one and only time they ever met.

"As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out." And there it was. Jim took the bait and Sherlock waited. "Well, good luck with that."

Faster than Sherlock had imagined, Jim pulled him closer. At the same time, he pulled a pistol from his waistband and put it to his own mouth. In less than a second, Jim was gone and Sherlock was left staring at his only equal.

Walking to the edge, Sherlock looked at the people below. Among them, John. Strong, dependable if somewhat unpredictable John. Jim had said that if Sherlock didn't jump, John would die. And while this was all in his mind palace, Sherlock didn't want to take chances. What had Jim once said to him? It's not the fall that kills you. It's the landing. And if Sherlock did this right, there would never be a landing. With a deep breath, Sherlock took on step forward, his eyes firmly on John and mind on the place where he most wanted to be.

Sherlock gasped back into consciousness, eyes wild and blinking as he took in the scene around him. He had done it. He beat Jim. If he was right, the world would never again have to deal with Moriarty and his web of crime. And Sherlock prided himself on always being right. Those times that he wasn't hardly counted.

And there, on the couch looking at him with that dumbfounded expression that Sherlock loved so much was John. His mouth hung open and he looked poised to say something though no noise was coming out. Oh, right. He wasn't sure who he was looking at. "It's me, John. Sherlock. In case you were wondering." After sitting for so long, he was desperate to get up and move, so he did just that, pushing out of the chair and making for the kitchen to start a new experiment.

John moved quickly for someone of his stature – something Sherlock always admired – but right now, he was a hindrance, having placed himself between Sherlock and his intended destination. "John, move. I have an experiment that needs tending too and you are blocking me from it."

"Bollocks on your experiment. You have been in the mind palace for six hours and I think I deserve an explanation of what happened. Where is Jim? Is he coming back? Are you alright?"

Sherlock started to roll his eyes at the onslaught of questions but thought better of it, considering the mood John was in. "I am fine. Jim is dead. I find it is difficult for one to return after shooting themselves through the mouth. We had a battle of the wits, and as expected I came out on top. I did have to throw myself off the building or you would have killed you but in the end, all turned out well. I am fine, as you can see."

"Jim shot himself?" John hadn't expected the wave of grief that threatened to drown him at those words. Moriarty was a psychopath, someone who delighted in the pain he caused others. He had killed more people than John cared to think about. But he was also the man who would curl up next to John and laugh over crap telly. Against evidence that would suggest otherwise, he was a caring lover who always asked John's opinion and occasionally listened. Sherlock was the one John loved but he would miss Jim, in his own way. "You are going to need to start from the beginning."

So Sherlock did. He outlined everything that had happened while John listened fascinated, horrified and awestruck. "So you think I was the sniper that was going to kill me?" The question sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.

"Yes. He said he had his best man set up to kill me pet. Both of those would describe you, in his mind anyway. So I can only surmise that Jim had his own mind palace version of you. I can't fathom how he got your personality so wrong but in the end, he had his faults and that was one of them."

John stared at Sherlock, a smile spreading across his face. "He is gone? Is it just the two of us now? No worrying about which one of you I will wake up to in the morning? Or which one will come out of the mind palace?" It was what he had always wanted. "How do you feel?"

"The same as always. Rather proud of the fact that my greatest nemesis was, in the end, me. I always knew there couldn't be a match for my intellect."

"Except for Mycroft." The smile on John's face lit up the room, eyes crinkling slightly as Sherlock glared at him. Opening his mouth to protest, Sherlock was stopped with a kiss. "Save it. Go do your experiment and I will order takeaway. How does Niven's sound?"

Sherlock nodded though his brow furrowed slightly. "Nicer than your usual fare. What is the occasion?"

John smiled. "You are here. I am here. And everything is going to be great from here on out."