The concrete was cold.

Amanda never realized how cold the concrete can be until now.

She was there for what felt like hours, only she knew it couldn't be hours because Jim said it will be around twenty minutes. She wondered how long it will be until the twenty minutes passes. Then she'll die.

She wondered what will happen then. Maybe it will end. It already started to get better. Or was it worst? How does it feels? Dying? The pain wasn't that sharp already. The feeling in her fingertips started to get numb. She even started hearing voices: Sherlock and Molly and John talking to her.

She felt someone moving her arm from her abdomen and she realized it was long since she applied pressure there. That's probably not good, right? She should apply pressure where she was shot. She found out she doesn't care any longer.

The someone applied pressure and she laughed to herself. How funny is that things happen when we think of them? The laughter died as she realized she couldn't manage to bring it out and she frowned. Now nobody will understand how funny it was.

She was raised into someone's arms and she thought it must be a different someone, because the first someone was still applying pressure. Applying. That's a funny word.

She was moved around and her head hurt, she grunted and vaguely realized a warm hand was put inside her cold one. She was feeling her hand again. When the pain passed there was clarity that wasn't there before.

Someone was carrying her. Sherlock. And John was applying pressure on her wounds, taking care of her even after all she's done. And Molly. She was there, too. Holding her hand and whispering to her, telling her all will be alright. But it won't. It won't because that's what Jim said and Jim's always right.

Or is he? She became dizzy, it was dizzying to think so hard and it was hard to think at all. Is dizzying a word? She thought it was. She hoped it was.

The last coherent thought that crossed her mind was that dizzying is most defiantly a word.

Sherlock and John stood side by side at Amanda's grave. Molly was nearby, crying, and Sherlock thought she shouldn't be crying.

She didn't deserve to cry. Despite the short romantic involvement between Amanda and Molly, Molly didn't know Amanda. Neither did Mary, or John, or most of the people at the funeral.

Even Mother and Father, along with Mycroft, didn't deserve to cry. They didn't know her, either. They knew who they wanted her to be. Who she pretended to be, so skillfully being the gifted actress she was.

Nobody deserved to cry. Nobody but Sherlock. But he couldn't, he wouldn't, because Moriarty must be nearby, watching.

He thought of Moriarty: Of the man who took his sister, broke her, and brought her back only to be taken away one more time. The man who killed his sister, letting her die thinking she deserved it, thinking it was making up for the wrongs she'd done. The wrongs Moriarty made her do.

He took one more look at his sister's gravestone.

He will be expected to go to his parents' house soon. To sit there while the guests says the whole "Sorry for your loss" ordeal. Pathetic.

John put a hand on his shoulder. "We have to go." He said and Sherlock nodded, turning away from the grave and leaving.

From a small distance, a man and a woman watched this exchange. They held hands, or more accurately, the man held the woman's hand, as if preventing her from running away.

"Here we are." He said. "The final act. I filled my part of the deal. They walk away, safe and unharmed, and it will stay that way as long as you will not do anything stupid. Understood?"

The woman nodded silently. Her other hand was in the coat pocket, playing with a small envelope and her heart beat a million times a minute at the fear of Moriarty finding out it was there.

"Let's go then." He said, pointing at the car.

She turned and pulled her hand out of her pocket, intentionally dropping the envelope to the ground, where it will be found hours later and brought to the man whose name was written on it.

Mycroft Holmes will read it carefully, and once he is convinced it is not a fraud he will send for one of his best men, Anthony. Anthony will listen carefully to the mission the elder man puts upon him and will confirm Mycroft he understood the importance of secrecy.

If Sherlock will find out the truth, if Moriarty will suspect something is going on, if she will act differently for any reason, everyone will die.

They needed a man on the inside, slowly breaking Moriarty's organization and eventually killing the man himself to save her. And Anthony had to start right away, for it had been hours since she dropped the note at the cemetery and entered the car with Moriarty.

It had been hours since, once again, Amanda Holmes was presumed dead while in truth she was a prisoner of the world's greatest criminal mind.

A/N: Well, that was HARD! I re-edited that chapter about ten times, and only in the last two I manage to keep Amanda alive.

Technically, this is the end of the story but I'm currently considering writing a sequel in two parts, the first of which will be a crossover between Sherlock and Criminal Minds. If I will, the main characters will be Amanda, Mycroft, Moriarty, Anthony and the Criminal Minds cast. In the third part, I will do a WhoLock fic, and it might have a bit more Sherlock cast in it.

Please review, I'd really love to know how you thought of the story in total and of this last chapter, plus if you'd want me to write the sequels.

Thank you all for sticking around with me this long, you're the best!