Epilogue

The following year all meshed together into a blur but I will try to remember at least all of the important details.

(F/N) is dead. That's important, isn't it? And the name of her kidnapper and essentially her killer is Moriarty. That was what the whole year revolved around.

I still continued to assist Lestrade in cases—I can't disappoint (F/N)—, but every free moment I received, I used to find all I could of this Moriarty. But that slowly became impossible to achieve. It turned out that even the homeless network couldn't provide information about the man. The only knowledge I collected were that he is the name whispered on few lips and the shadow along every wall of a crime.

Sometimes when I'd be at a point in a case when I really needed to concentrate, I would talk to (F/N), or at least her skull. I never expected her to respond but it was nice just to imagine she could. It helped me not feel so odd when thinking aloud with something to talk to. In a way it was relieving. I think well when I talk out loud so it wasn't just for my benefit only.

Without my syringe, it was easier to not give into cocaine or any other narcotic, but that doesn't mean I didn't lie awake several nights contemplating using again. To help ease away my need for drugs, I gave in to cigarettes, and eventually down to nicotine patches, as it was difficult to retain my smoking habit in such a place like London. But soon not even cigarettes or the patches could clear my head of the haunting memories of not only my flat, but of the entire building.

It was as if the very edifice itself breathed (F/N) and it soon became so overwhelming that I decided I need to move out. That, and I don't think the landlord can take much more of me. Over the last week I've been searching for another flat but I somehow always return to 221 Baker Street. I know the landlady from a previous case I worked and because of it, she keeps insisting she owes me a favour...I just might take her up on that. But there is one problem. I need a flatmate. But who would want me as a flatmate? I voiced this to Mike Stamford, a man who works in St. Bart's, not expecting him to care. Forty-four point eleven minutes later, he returns with a friend.

'Bit different from my day.'

'You've no idea!'

Army doctor, but now needing to walk with the aid of a cane.

I was just finishing an experiment for one of Lestrade's cases when the two broke my silence. The results come as positive and I step to the side to text the detective inspector who the culprit is.

'Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.'

He declines, recalling he left his in his coat, when the man he entered with offers me his. I thank him as I stroll over to retrieve his mobile.

'This is an old friend of mine, John Watson.'

John Watson. Common name for a common fellow.

I take the device from his hand, noticing the tan line on his wrist as I do. Scratch marks along the sides and face of the mobile. Engraving on the back. Tiny scuffmarks round the edges of the power connection.

'Afghanistan or Iraq?' I ask while sliding the phone open. He's thrown off guard, not expecting that type of question. I repeat myself. Afghanistan. But before he can ask a question, Molly interrupts with my coffee.

'How do you feel about the violin? If Mike brought him as a possible flatmate, we might as well get to know something about each other.

'I'm sorry, what?'

'I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.'

Smile. Look friendly.

'You told him about me?' He turns to Mike for answers, instead.

'Not a word.'

'Then who said anything about flatmates?' he directs back to me.

'I did.' I declare while pulling on my coat, gloves, and scarf. Hm, must have left my riding crop with Molly. 'I told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap.'

He asks another question but I ignore it completely as I continue talking.

'Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening 7 o'clock. Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.'Have to get away before he asks more. Better to leave him wanting more than fed up with me. But he stops me just before I open my exit.

'Is that it?'

I step back. 'Is that what?'

'We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat?'

'Problem?' He smiles like it's a stupid question to ask.

'We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name.'

All right then, he brought it upon himself so he can't complain. 'I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?' I glide out the doors but then remember I didn't answer two of his questions. I swing back around the side.'The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.' Wink and I'm off. Now if he's really interested, his curiosity will get the better of him.

'Hello' I greet John while paying my taxi.

'Ah, Mr Holmes.'

'Sherlock, please.' I shake his hand, introduce him to Mrs Hudson, and step inside to show him the flat. I'd already moved all of my items in, seeing as how the place was actually quite nice. It takes John's opinion for me to recognise just how much of a mess I've made. I swiftly attempt to tidy things up when he points out my skull. (F/N)'s skull. When I'd unpacked everything, I decided to give it a more dignified place on the mantelpiece.

'That's a skull.' he observes. It seems people just cannot put it off as a simple decoration.

'Friend of mine.' I quickly dismiss. I then realise how much that makes me sound like some kind of morbid freak or psychopathic killer. I fumble for words as I try to lie to clarify myself when Mrs Hudson thankfully intervenes.

Lestrade arrives unexpectedly and presents a murder for me to investigate. I'm thrown into hysterical joy and leap out of the flat with a few parting words. But before I reach the door to outside, a thought pops into my head. I haven't had a proper partner since...she died. And carrying around her skull with me to crime scenes and other places only attracts attention. But if I had a living, breathing, human being to speak to...

I dash back up the stairs. Not only would it help me, it could also possibly get rid of John's pesky limp if he had something fun to do. 'You're a doctor.' I state while still pulling on my gloves. 'In fact you're an Army doctor.'

'Yes.' he confirms, standing, clearly interested.

'Any good?'

'Very good.'

Confidence. Excellent.

'Seen a lot of injuries, then. Violent deaths.' I advance toward him, making the conversation more serious and needed.

'Well, yes.'

'Bit of trouble too, I bet?'

'Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime, far too much.'

'Want to see some more?'

'Oh, God, yes.'

I finish rattling off my deductions and look away from John, preparing myself for the usual reaction of screaming and wanting nothing to do with me. Maybe I really am supposed to be alone. But then he says something that shocks me to disbelief.

'That...was amazing.'

Those words. Those exact words had been spoken to me only once before. A year, to be precise. When (F/N) had said them to me. Did he really say that? Can there really be someone else who admires me?

'What do people have, then, in their..."real lives"?' I ask John, becoming annoyed by the topic and impatient for our killer to arrive.

'Friends. People they know, people they like, people they don't like...Girlfriends, boyfriends.'

'Yes, well, as I was saying, dull.'

'You don't have a girlfriend, then?'

Why does he have to choose this subject? ...Might as well tell him the truth. 'Girlfriend? No, not really my area.' I don't put much thought into the statement as I only want to be done talking.

'Mm.' He looks down and I expect the conversation to be over when I literally hear the light bulb flicker on above his head. 'Oh, right...Do you have a boyfriend? –Which is fine, by the way.' he hastily adds when I turn to him. I guess I never really thought about that option.

'I know it's fine.'

He smiles. 'So you've got a boyfriend then.'

'No.'

'Right. Okay.'

Why is he so neurotic? 'You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good.'

I'm relieved to have silence again but then think deeper into the conversation. Maybe that's why he's stayed for so long. Could he really—? I reprimand myself. No, I swore to have nothing to do with any sort of romantic endeavours. I need to push him away, show him I'm not interested.

'John, um...' How do I start this? 'I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm just not looking for any—'

'—No. No, I'm not...asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine.'

I minutely nod my head. 'Good. Thank you.' Discussion done.

We slow our pace as we reach the door of our destination; both out of breath as we hang our coats. I tick one note off of my mental check list.

'That was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing...I've ever done.'

We lean against the hall's wall as we try to rest and calm our heart rates.

'And you invaded Afghanistan.' That sends us both into a fit of manic giggles.

'That wasn't just me. Why aren't we back at the restaurant?'

'They can keep an eye out.'

I say while waving the question away. 'It was a long shot anyway.' I state more quietly.

'So what were we doing there?'

'Oh, just passing the time. And proving a point.'

'What point?'

'You. Mrs Hudson! Dr Watson

will take the room upstairs.'

'Says who?'

'Says the man at the door.'

Suddenly a knock sounds against wood and I smile at John's amazed and confused expression.

Looks like he will be staying after all. I could get used to this whole "flatmate thing". Especially the part where I'm not alone.

'I was warned about you.' the cabbie admits while we continue driving; just him and me. 'I've been on your website too. Brilliant stuff! I loved it.'

'Who warned you about me?'

'Just someone out there who's noticed.'

'Who?'

I press further. 'Who would notice me?'

'You're too modest, Mr Holmes.'

'I'm really not.'

People only notice things they want.

'Got yourself a fan.'

'Tell me more.'

'That's all you're gonna know.'

he states simply. 'In this lifetime.'

Who is this 'fan'? And why are they so interested in me?

A gunshot cracks through the air and the cabbie in front of me drops to the floor. I hurdle across the desk behind me to get a closer look at the bullet hole in the window, and possibly the person who shot it, but they're gone. The man gasps for breath, bringing my attention back to him. Blood is now draining from his shoulder and pooling onto the hardwood floor. I grab the pill I almost ate and show it to him.

'Was I right? I was wasn't I? Did I get it right?' I demand.

He turns his head away and I throw the small capsule at his face.

'Okay,' I resign to a different topic as I hover over him. 'tell me this. Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me, my fan. I want a name.'

'No...'

he croaks.

'You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me...a name.' He shakes his head and I dig my heel into his bleeding shoulder, feeling it snap and crack beneath my foot. He cries out in pain but I don't release my pressure. 'A name! Now!' He remains quiet and I press harder, becoming extremely livid. 'THE NAME!'

'Moriarty!'

he wails, and his body goes limp under me as life leaves the body.

I mouth the name in astonishment. The name of the man who I'd spent a year searching for. The same name (F/N) said before she died. The pendulum swings, life goes on, nothing is new. At least he's still out there, and sponsoring crimes, no less. I may still be able to find him.

A paramedic wraps a bright orange blanket around my shoulders and pats my arms as they leave. It was exactly like this a year ago. I sat on the end of the ambulance while (F/N)'s body was taken away and a woman place a blanket over me. Even then the fabric provided no comfort. How could a simple covering replace a human soul? Lestrade strolls closer to the vehicle and I point to the sheet around me. 'Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me.'

'Yeah, it's for shock.'

'I'm not in shock.'

I protest.

'Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs.'

I roll my eyes and groan internally.

'What are you so happy about?' John questions as we walk away from Mycroft.

'Moriarty.'

'What's Moriarty?'

'I've absolutely no idea.'

It is true. I don't know exactly who you are, where you are, or even what you look like. But I swear, Moriarty, I will find you. Oh, yes, the game is on, and it will be until I see the life flicker from your eyes by my own hands. Just. You. Wait.

BONUS: EXPLANATIONS TO POSSIBLE CONFUSIONS OR PLOTHOLES

A/N: I put a lot of thought into this story; even though most people probably didn't catch most of the connections. The following are simply explanations for some things that might have been confusing in each chapter or things you wanted to know more about, and then at the very bottom I link some things with actual episodes in the show. :3 So this story was pretty much like one, big headcanon. I hope you enjoy! :D

~Chapter 1

-Just for people that might have been curious what kind of threat the Director of the FBI was given by Moriarty. She was told if (F/N) (L/N) wasn't made a Legal Attaché in London, England and if she didn't fulfill all of what he wanted to be done, "she would never see her children again".

~Chapter 3

-The reason Sherlock was so agitated toward you was because he had the packet of cocaine in his pocket and he didn't want you to know. He wanted to get as far away from you as possible because you made him feel guilty. And he hated that. He hated that you had such control of his emotions.

~Chapter 9

-The first time Sherlock entered your dream, it was an experiment from his theories of strictly strangers. So, he thought, if all one had to do was remember the person's face and they, slightly, remember that person's, one could easily jump to another's dreams even if one hadn't made eye contact before one fell asleep.
-Moriarty has always wanted to keep tabs on Sherlock Holmes. It was easy setting up a camera and microphone in his old flat without him noticing (and he even wired your flat). But once Sherlock moved into 221B Baker Street, it was harder to find a time when it was completely vacant of people. (Because Mrs Hudson was in there a lot and Sherlock would stay at the flat when John went out.)
-The reason Moriarty helped you throughout the story was because it was all apart of his little game. He wanted to keep things interesting, keep it going, and confuse you at the same time.
-Now, the moment many of you have probably been waiting for, the explanation to Moriarty's third text he sent Sherlock. Technically, I dubbed it, "M's Warning" so let's call it that. It's basically Moriarty's prediction of the future. Broken fragments from a stone heart, It's kind of saying how Sherlock's heart will be broken and turned to stone. He'll be angry and confused. He won't want open up to anyone for fear he'll be hurt again. There is but a dim light, There will only be a small sliver of care in him (that is expanded when John comes into his life). Stitched together by sweet sweet memories. The only way he can continue in life is from his memories of you and how you wanted him to continue his consulting detective work. Oh, how the time flies by at night. The dreams you and Sherlock spent together were treasured but they could not last forever. (And Moriarty was trying to tell him that) The end shall be where it all began. The same place you had your first real case together would be the same place it all was destroyed (aka you die). All of your relationship and what it could have been was shot down that night. From illusion to reality. This can either be about the dreams you had together and how he needs to "wake up", or how he's shocked from the illusion of "perfect love" back into the harsh reality that love is not real and it does not last forever. But don't get distracted for too long, For there is still a larger game to be played. Moriarty is saying he's not done with Sherlock and that he shouldn't get distracted from the real world because the worst is yet to come. And reminding him he shouldn't get caught up in relationships (romantic or not) because you can't hold onto them forever and he should focus on what really matters (Moriarty's big game).

~Chapter 10

-Some of you might already be suspecting it was Sebastian Moran who initially shot and killed you, but if you are familiar with the canon Moran, you'd know he was previously a Colonel and that he's aprofessional sniper. So why wouldn't he have shot you in the head if he wanted to kill you? Because Moriarty told him to shoot you in the stomach. He knew it would kill you slower and he knew Sherlock was coming (the texts), so he wanted to emotionally scar the detective as far as he could. So that it would slow Sherlock down and teach him that Moriarty isn't someone to be trifled with.
-While you are dying, Sherlock wants to comfort you by telling you you'll be all right, but he can't. He sees the facts and can't change them with false hopes. You're dying, and there's no way to change it.
-When Sherlock had that nightmare of in the hospital with you, he sees Moriarty. But he only sees what you showed him, which you didn't even get to illustrate his face so all he knew was the black suit and scarlet tie. (And anyone can imagine a creepy grin.)

~Connection to the Show
The Great Game

-When Sherlock finally meets Moriarty, he is on edge and wants to kill him so badly, but he knows he must remain calm and cool in front of the psychopath. When he asks what would happen if he shot Moriarty right then, he was very willing to do so, but Moriarty explains there's still so much to be done.
-"I will burn...the heart out of you." "I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." "But we both know that's not quite true." When Moriarty says that, he is bringing you back to Sherlock's mind. He knows that Sherlock has a heart; that he can choose to love.

A Scandal in Belgravia

-When Sherlock is informed of Irene Adler's death (or rather "death"), he displays an odd show of emotions because her "body" was found on Christmas Day, and you died on Christmas. So when Mycroft speaks to him outside of the morgue, he repeats "Caring is not an advantage" because apparently it didn't get through to Sherlock back then, and he's reminding him of another important woman that died that same day.
-Christmas is usually a "danger night" for Sherlock because he is reminded of your death on that day. Though so far he's always evoked the memory that it was the drugs that cause the tragedy, who knows for how long he can hold off.

The Reichenbach Fall

-When Sherlock said aloud "I don't like riddles." and Moriarty responds "Learn to." In the episode when the two are speaking with each other and Moriarty tells him that cryptic riddle, Sherlock says "I never liked riddles." to which Moriarty responds, "Learn to." reminding Sherlock of you, and the other riddles he didn't like. He was trying to break Sherlock down again so later, he would be more willing to kill himself by being reminded of your death.
-"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. Oh, sorry..." "Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area." "When he was dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely. Except when he thought that no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad." "Molly..." "You look sad...when you think he can't see you." Sherlock always tries to look (if not cheerful) at least normal in expressions. But when he believes no one can see him...when John can't see him...all of his tucked away emotions show...and maybe...just maybe...he's thinking about you.

I literally watched the first episode with my notebook in my lap and paused and backed up so much. I really just wrote down the scenes and moments' dialogue that related to you (the reader), so I'm sorry if you wanted me to mention a certain scene that I didn't. ^^;

I hope you enjoyed this. :) I certainly loved writing it and am sad to see it end. I'd love to write more Sherlock fan fiction and maybe even another reader insert (that doesn't end tragically heh heh). So if you have any suggestions, feel free to voice them! :3

Thank you for reading! :D