I just wanted to say, thank you everyone for sticking with the story and all of the reviews. It means so much to me I can't even express it.

I know the last couple of chapters (okay the whole story) has had issues with grammar and britpick. I'm sorry for that, I do try my best but things slip through.

This is the last chapter and I'll be putting up the sequel shortly.

I love each and everyone of you.

Peace&Love

Sophie

The doctor wakes slowly, his midsection hurts and his brain throbs. The smell of antiseptic lingers in the doctor's noise but John ignores it, it's a far better smell than blood.

"John." Mycroft's voice is impatient and it calls out to the doctor. John wants to run away from the voice, he wants it to be Sherlock's voice. Where is Sherlock? Why isn't he here?

"JOHN!" Mycroft yells again and John becomes suddenly anxious. Why is he screaming? Is there something wrong with Sherlock? Is that why he isn't here? The doctor fights through the drugs and the haze and his eyes flutter open in a panic. The room is cold and John misses the detective's warmth.

When John finally gets his eyes open, he scans the room before finding Mycroft. The politician stands next to John, his umbrella tapping on the ground and his face smooth and impenetrable.

John tries to shake his head but the pain and the agony stop him. He looks up at the elder Holmes with curiosity.

"Mycroft?" John rasps out weakly, hissing slightly as a shooting pain moves across his body.

"Do not contact Sherlock." Mycroft says loudly and insistent and John's face twists in befuddlement. Why can he contact Sherlock? Is he okay?

"Why?" John breathes out, looking worriedly at Mycroft. How did the detective get hurt? Did Moriarty go after Sherlock? John is panicking, picturing the genius in a ditch somewhere.

"This is very important." The politician says, capturing John's wild eyes while looming over the blond man's bed. "You are dead."

John reels in confusion and his mouth shoots open. "What does he mean I'm dead?" John thinks to himself staring at the politician. Why would Mycroft say such a thing?

"I'm dead?" John chokes out,

"Yes. It's imperative that you don't mentally contact the detective." Mycroft remarks bluntly and John's face twists in confusion. "We just got him to believe it."

"Wait. What?" The doctor shouts and looks angrily at the elder Holmes. "I'm dead and Sherlock doesn't know!"

"That's the whole point of you being dead, Dr. Watson." Mycroft snaps impatiently.

"Why? This doesn't make any sense." John is angry and irritated and confused and a little bit sad. Where is Sherlock?

"Moriarty fled and he thinks you are dead." is Mycroft's simple response like it's the most straightforward thing in the world. "He will never know you are coming."

"WHAT?" John screams appalled at Mycroft's tenacity.

"You are dead to the world." Mycroft explains again and John huffs in annoyance.

"You keep saying that, and yet I'm still confused." The doctor is angry, his fist twisting into the sheets uncontrollably.

"We had to kill you so you can chase after Moriarty." Mycroft clarifies in his own version of 'your an idiot' tone. John is too angry to care.

"Why?" John shakes his head, all his pain being ignored, confusion and answers becoming his number one priority.

"You have...advantages." Mycroft explains, walking around the room languidly.

"Because he thinks I'm dead." John inquires.

"Precisely." Mycroft sighs in relief, glad that John is finally catching on. "That and you can sense him."

John stares in shock. "Oh come on now, Sherlock told me." The politician says waving off John's gaping mouth.

"Sherlock." The doctor suddenly thinks about the detective and how this is going to hurt the man, devastating him.

"And Sherlock thinks I'm dead?" John asks firmly and Mycroft's nods enthusiastically, thinking that this is going better than expected. Unfortunately for Mycroft, it is far from over.

"HOW COULD YOU?" The doctor screams, grabbing a pillow from behind him and throwing it suddenly at the elder Holmes. Mycroft stares in shock and easily (and gracefully) ducks out of the way of the flying object.

"John-" The politician starts, tucking his twirling umbrella under his arm anxiously, and holding up both hands in surrender.

"THIS WILL KILL HIM!" John yells, anger seething through him and the doctor's vision is starting to see red.

"John, calm down." The politician says quietly but John doesn't, he scowls with anger and disgust.

"You didn't even consult me!" John screams, throwing his arms in the air.

"John," Mycroft starts. "You know as well as I do, that Moriarty is a dangerous man."

"That's a bollocks excuse Mycroft." John exasperates. "You killed me without even giving me the chance to choose."

"I didn't have another choice and neither did you." Mycroft snaps angrily catching the doctor off guard.

"Of course I did." John spits back, "I'm a human being, I always get a choice."

"That's very naive of you Doctor." Mycroft remarks acidly, waving his hands like he is trying to physically bat away John's ignorance.

The stare at each other in silence for a long time. John trying to calm down and the politician watching with interest.

"You will be saving Sherlock's life." The politician comments finally, trying to entice the doctor.

John shakes his head indignantly. "Don't even think about making this about him." John snarls. "You know full well, this is a matter of national security. This is about you."

Mycroft lowers his head. "Fine, but you are the only chance to stop him. He thinks you are dead." Mycroft states, looking at John with conviction and determination. In that look, John knows he isn't going to win.

"John."

"Oh great, perfect timing." John thinks bitterly. His face must have twitched because Mycroft is instantly talking to the doctor.

"You can't contact him John. This is important." Mycroft states, looming menacingly over the doctor. "He needs to believe you are dead."

John shakes his head indignantly. "I can't do this to him."

"It's already done." Mycroft states. "He knows you aren't coming back. Turning up alive would ruin the chance we have."

"Mycroft." John hisses at the morbidity of the politician's statement. "This is cruel."

"You are being selfish, John." Mycroft moves towards the bed, his voice firm and commanding.

"How?" John asks incredulously, failing to see the connection.

"No matter what you chose, you are dead until Moriarty's corpse is in my possession." Mycroft voice turns scary and dark, a hint of manipulation and terror radiate from it. John resists the urge to cower in alarm. The soldier stands his ground and glares at the politician.

"If you refuse to go, Sherlock will try to avenge your death and die in the process." The elder Holmes continues.

John stares in horror, the politician is right, Sherlock would travel all over the continent searching for vengeance. The detective would die and it would be all of John's fault.

"Your selfishness will get my brother killed, John." Mycroft adds, twisting John guilt and pain even more. "Only you can stop Moriarty."

John is torn between Sherlock and getting rid of the evil genius for good.

"What guarantee do you have that if I go, Sherlock will stay." John questions quietly and Mycroft smiles slightly at the doctor's resignation.

"I can be very persuasive." The politician comments.

"I think you mean manipulative." John mutters and the elder Holmes lets out a chuckle. John knows the man is forcing him to go after Moriarty and he is using his own brother to do it. If Mycroft has such good connections why doesn't he stop Sherlock from leaving the continent regardless? This is a lose-lose situation and once again John has become the unwilling puppet.

"This is a once in a life time opportunity, John. You will return and Moriarty will be dead." The politician is standing next to John know, his demeanor soft and patient.

"This will kill him." John repeats with a sigh, tears falling from his eyes.

"My brother is strong. He will make it." Mycroft explains but John shakes his head.

"John."

Tears fall down John's face as he talks. "Fine. Where to?" John exasperates, burying his head into his hands with resignation.

"Switzerland." The politician remarks, smiling gloomily.