Warning: FINA AU (I guess everyone does one at one point). Also warnings for first time writer. Read at your own risk.

After my many long years of acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes, I have become somewhat accustomed to the many eccentricities of his bohemian soul. I still, however, admit to some surprise when, on the eve of the 24th of April, he appeared in my consulting room via the window, looking even paler and thinner than usual. His remarks of air guns and trips to the Continent were also unexpected, but not to a degree to which I was unable to join him in his excursion. There was something very strange in all this. It was not in Holmes' nature to take an aimless holiday, and something about his pale, worn face told me that his nerves were at their highest tension. He saw the question in my eyes, and, putting his fingertips together and his elbows upon his knees, explained the situation. I was horrified, although somewhat intrigued, to hear of the intricate web of Professor Moriarty, that famous scientific criminal, and his subsequent conversation with Holmes. I agreed at once to follow Holmes' instructions to the letter, and insisted that he stay the night. Refusing, he moved to slip out the window and into the night, when he stopped and turned back to me.

"You must know that Professor Moriarty will do his utmost to stop you from reaching that station, and he certainly has enough men at his disposal to do so easily. Indeed, I am almost certain that the man I met with tonight is no more than another decoy; a ruse, if you will, to throw me off the scent. He has been told only enough to carry out the conversation with me, and now that he is no longer needed, I have no doubts as to his fate."

I promised once more that I would take care, and Holmes was gone.

The next day dawned, and I was scrupulously exact in following Holmes' plan. I took in every person on the street, and held them all under equal suspicion. No more was London a bright, bustling city filled with my friends and patients, but instead a cloud-covered, evil place. A few seemed to give me strange looks as I passed, likely all in Moriarty's employ. Why, if Holmes could employ an entire street of people to uncover the photograph held by Mrs. Irene Norton, then Moriarty could surely have everyone in Kensington Gardens watching for any sign of my friend or me. The cab driver, a large, dark man, with his face hidden by a scarf seemed most suspicious yet, and it was with great relief that I leapt out at the train station. My nerves, already shot by the harrowing cab ride, were strained even past their limits as I waited on the train for any sign of Holmes. I'm afraid that I was rather impatient with the poor Italian priest, and was stepping out to find the conductor when the train started to move. I confess to being both relieved and startled in extreme measures when Holmes doffed his disguise, but once all was sorted out, we settled in for the trip.

By the time we arrived in Switzerland, I was already thoroughly sick of sightseeing and was almost hoping that Moriarty would make a move soon so that we could return to Baker Street. Near the Reichenbach Falls, we caught wind of Moriarty close at hand, and Holmes decided that we would make our stand at the falls. The fateful day arrived, and as Holmes and I climbed, we discussed favorite memories: cases we had shared, concerts we had attended, and our lives before we met. By the time we reached the falls, we had run out of things to say to each other, and sat quietly, knowing that, in all likelihood, this would be the final time we saw each other, but not wanting to believe it. Holmes heard the tapping of Moriarty's boots on the path a second or two before I, but as the sound drew closer, we both stood, preferring to face Moriarty on our feet. He must have known we were there, for as the tapping was about to round the corner of the towering rock face, it stopped. "Well, Mr. Holmes," came the voice, distorted by the rushing of the waterfall. "And Doctor Watson, too. How pleasant. You know, Doctor Watson, I was actually considering sending you a fake note from a sick patient or some such. You would not have been deceived for long, true, but it would have given a few hours' delay while you rushed around, allowing Mr. Holmes and myself enough time for a nice little chat. I did not, however, truly think that you would allow even a sick Englishwomen at the brink of death to distract you from this. I can still give you that opportunity, you know. Just say the word, and I'll let you leave. You don't know who I am, yet, and I promise you will not be harmed."

"I stay with Holmes." I rejoined, despite Holmes mouthing "Go," in my peripheral vision.

"Pity. I did like you, Doctor." And so saying, Moriarty turned the corner.

And I found myself face-to-face with the one person I would never have expected to see. Lestrade.