And now, I present to you…part two!
I must thank the aptly named unintentionalgenius. I'm technically her beta, but on this one, I had a huge self-confidence issue and was never going to post; she sent me back comments and basically told me to get my arse in gear. Thanks, lovey!
Written to – I can't remember WHAT, exactly. I think I was waiting for 'The Last Enemy' to load on YouTube, which would mean nothing. Except for maybe some static.
Disclaimer: Okay, I know that John is FINE (physically). I know that Sherlock didn't really kill himself. And I know Moriarty blew his brains out with a pistol on top of St. Bart's. All of which were, by the way, not my decisions. But tough. This is an AU. I can do whatever I want.
Warnings: Disturbing. Yes, this is disturbing. There are a couple deaths…*runs to hide under table*

After Julia, you kept going. You tried to forget her. She wasn't important. She had been a distraction. You told yourself over and over that she had never existed.

Time wore on and on and after a while, even you started to believe your lies. You started to believe that she hadn't been real, that she had just been your faults, disguised and unleashed upon the world. She had been trying to cripple you, trying to make you weak.

You are strong. You need to be strong. Stronger is better. You cannot be just human. You are more. You are special.

You thought HE understood that, too.

…

You found out about him from one of your agents. It was one of your arranged crimes, a little one but important nonetheless. He got in the way.

Nobody ever gets in your way.

…

This might be it for real this time, you thought. This was who you could work with. If he was clever enough to get in your way, he was clever enough to be your partner.

He wasn't Julia. He wasn't weak. He knew that feelings did nothing for anybody. He knew that to function, one needed data. Cold, solid data, based on what was actually observed, not what was perceived.

You needed him.

You sent out feelers. Moles. You needed to know everything about this man called Sherlock Holmes.

You were almost ready to approach him. To recruit him.

And that was when his faults manifested.

…

He was yours.

And then that man called John had the nerve to show up in his life.

…

You played a game with him. Tried to draw his attention away from his precious John and back to you. It almost worked.

But when John chastised him, he repented. When John called, he came.

You could not have that.

…

John was his pet. John was corrupting him. John was making that strong man into someone so weak and so human.

People keep pets.

You do not.

People feel affection for their pets.

You don't.

…

You needed a strong and clever version of him. To achieve that would be relatively simple. All you had to do was dispose of his pet.

That was easier said than done.

…

But you did. You ruined that army doctor.

He was stronger than most. That was due to the soldier, you thought. The soldier that was still living inside him.

He broke, in the end. He didn't just crack. He shattered.

Spectacularly.

You wished that it could have taken longer for him to die. It was really so brief. You wished that he could have had time to repent for his mistakes. To realize that nobody gets in your way. Ever.

…

Sherlock came at last. Found the body, found the blood, found you standing over the now useless and broken toy.

You expected him to be happy. To thank you for removing his weakness, cutting it out at the roots.

You didn't expect him to do this.

…

You don't cry.

You never cried.

You screamed and raged if something went wrong. People, animals, furniture, dishes, they all knew when something went wrong. They felt it. They knew that you were unhappy without you even having to say anything.

But you never cried.

…

So why was he crying?

…

He was meant to be your partner. He was so clever.

He wasn't meant to do this.

He wasn't meant to sit on the floor, holding his friend's body, rocking him and crying and crying.

And that was when you realized that John Watson wasn't a friend. He was never a friend. Nor a pet.

He was something more.

…

You got angry.

…

People, ordinary people, were not allowed to touch you. They were not allowed to touch your partner. You were both untouchable.

You can't remember exactly what happened. It was fast, and it was furious, and it was so unexpected.

You do know that he fought you when you ripped him off the body and took it away. He fought so well. He was like an animal, wild from rage and grief. That was how you wanted him. A broken man, angry at all the world.

You thought that you must have done something right.

"GIVE HIM BACK!" he had screamed. "Give him back to me!"

You supposed that he regretted not getting a chance to help you. You thought he wanted to have a turn, to help rid himself of that horrible cancer that latches onto a man and makes him feel. You did give John's body back to him, just for a few minutes.

You didn't know what he was doing.

…

You didn't realize until it was too late.

…

You should have seen that bulge in John's jacket pocket. You should have known he had that gun.

You were just too interested in playing with him to notice petty things like that.

…

Later, you wondered why John hadn't fired. He could have. You truly had no idea that the gun existed. John could have killed you, killed himself if the pain had become too much. He could have done so much and yet he didn't.

It was obvious why, in the end.

John believed in that detective. He really believed that Sherlock would come.

And he did. He was just a few minutes too late.

…

There was one bullet in that gun. Sherlock could have shot you.

But instead he shot himself. Right through the heart. His eyes said, This is what you have done to me.

…

You called in your men to take away the bodies. Both bloody and bruised, both agonized and ruined. You didn't want to be reminded of your failure.

…

Eventually, they told you that they'd thrown them in the rubbish bin. That's what those two were, really. Rubbish. Trash. They had no purpose in all reality.

So you started again. Put them out of your mind. Began looking for someone new.

You still haven't found anybody.

But you will. You know that.

Because the strongest men, the very strongest, don't let John Watson into their life. They're smarter than that.