A/N: It had been a hell of a long time since I updated this but this is it guys! This is the last chapter! I'm sorry it took so long but I had a ridiculously hard time of try to get this down. I just couldn't get back into the groove. But it's done! I hope you guys enjoy it and thank you all so much for your amazing support in getting to the end of this fic. I love you all and wish you much fun with your reading in the future!

Man or Mouse

Chapter 17: Reconciliation

John had his hands wrapped around his head. He couldn't hear. He couldn't think! Everything was so loud. The booming stereo across the room turned up to max pounded against his skull, the beating of drums and the honk of horns from the next room invading his senses. Every time he opened his eyes the floodlight hanging from the roof of the tent blinded him and the smell. Oh, God the smell; manure and burning meat and singed hair and the reek of his own fear. He couldn't control it. His senses were in overdrive. He couldn't pull it back, couldn't centre it on any one thing. It burned worse than being shot.

His ears rang as someone banged on the bars of his cage. His eyes involuntarily opened at the noise. He groan in agony as his pupils burned under the intensity of the light.

"Morning, Johnny Boy!" called that incessant singsong voice that he hated so much. The high pitched screech was worse than nails on a chalkboard. "Did you like that little cocktail I whipped up for you?"

"What did you give me?" he growled.

"Ah! So it can speak!" John glared at the devil in Westwood through slitted eyes, cursing himself for his own slip up. "Just a bit of this and a bit of that. Some adrenaline, something to make you… let go…"

A new wave of fear washed through John. He'd already started to feel his control slipping, his hands were shaking and his fingers burned where his claws threatened to burst through. He couldn't lose control here! He could hear the excited murmurs of a crowd just the other side of the tent wall. Too many people, too many people!

Come on, kid. Let's have some fun!

"No!" John screamed. His nails dug into his scalp. Pain stimulus will take your mind off the-

The stab of a needle cut the thought short. He yelped and looked over at Moriarty with wide eyes. He flashed that terrible malicious grin and waved the bloodied, empty needle in front of his face. John could already feel his heart rate kick up. The trembling in his arms worsened. He wrapped them around himself, trying to push back the voice in his head that was screaming to be let out.

What's a few dead spectators? Little, insignificant, boring lives. We could make them so much more exciting!

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" John collapsed to his knees, his quaking hands covering his face. Why was it so goddamn loud?!

"Dad, leave him alone!" John knew that voice. He looked up through pain-blurred eyes to see Kai, the young circus hand. Wait, did he just say…?

Sherlock sat in the stands, his arms wrapped painfully around his stomach. He'd taken enough drugs to knock the pain scale just below agony while still keeping his mind clear and alert. The last circus he'd been too was less than enjoyable and now this? If they got out of here alive (and they would), Sherlock was boycotting the idea altogether. His wary eyes raked over the performers tossing and turning in the ring before them, looking for any sign of John. Dammit! How long was Moriarty going to keep him waiting?

Not long at all.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, an ear-splitting roar filled the stadium. The crowd fell silent and the performers hastily cleared the arena. A crackle sounded as the PA system switched on and a voice announced the newest act.

"Ladies and gentlemen," it began painfully stereotypically. "Tonight we give to you our newest acquisition! He hails from the underground circus of Siberia! No one knows what he is but he is here tonight for you, our guests! Please welcome to the arena Jungle Johnny!" The last of the announcers words were cut off by another wretched roar tearing through the arena. A crash ricocheted off of the walls as a doorway to the under stage flew open. Gasps rang through the crowd, the unknown creature pouncing out into the stadium, struggling against the restraining chains that bound its neck.

John…

Sherlock jumped to his feet, the pain instantly forgotten. Five men were pulled along behind John, trying to hold onto the chains around his neck. He was partially transformed, his size nearly doubled, his body riddled with fur, teeth bared, eyes wild. It was still John though. Whatever Moriarty had done, that thing still hadn't taken control. John was holding on, if just by a thread. He had to help him, had to get him out of here before anyone thought it more than another sideshow act.

The gasps of the crowd had formed into cheers of enjoyment and excitement at the sight of this strange new commodity. They were all too preoccupied with the strangeness of it all to see that inside the beast was a person, too involved in the abstract exterior to notice the fear that was clear in John's eyes. This was why John hid, why he wouldn't tell Sherlock.

The detective couldn't take it.

Down in the arena John roared, whipping his head from to the side, tossing three of the men away. He snapped around, using his tail to knock the legs out from under the remaining two men. The crowd screamed, this time in fear. They started scattering as John's lumbering form turned on the stalls. Sherlock bolted downward, vaulting the railing into the arena. John pulled up short in front of his flatmate, another rumbling cry falling from his throat.

"John!" he screamed. "John! It's me! It's Sherlock!" Recognition flared in those blue eyes. The roar turned to a pained whimper. "John, what happened? What did they do to you?"

"A-adrenaline," he ground out, the words nashing between John's transformed teeth. "Can't… Stronger than me… Can't," John sobbed, his eyes clouding again.

"No! John, you have to stay with me, you have to listen! You can beat him, you just have to remember who you are, that you're stronger. John Watson, ex-soldier, army doctor, amateur detective. Come on! You've been through too much to let this beat you!"

"Sherlock… hurts."

"I know but you have to keep trying." Sherlock was close to tears himself now. Twice in a week. Have to re-school myself on emotional control later. John took a deep gasping breath and his eyes focused on Sherlock's face again. He opened his mouth as if to speak but he didn't get the chance. The air whistled and something crashed into the detective's side, knocking him to the floor. John screamed, whipping around to see a man standing with a rifle in his arms and a wicked grim on his face.

I was going to do that myself. Pity. Why don't we get the killjoy?

John's scream turned into a roar, the transformation taking over. He dropped to all fours, sprinting toward the shooter. He crashed into him with all his weight, pinning him to the floor, one great claw-like hand on his chest. The shooter barely had the chance to gasp before John sank his teeth into the man's neck, ripping out his throat.

John screamed again, grief and anger consuming him. He turned to see the blank face of Moriarty, watching him swallow the hunk of flesh he'd taken from his victim. John's lips pulled back in a sneer, watching in satisfaction as the criminal's eyes darted to his bloodstained teeth.

John would kill him. This was his fault. Sherlock was dead and it was Moriarty's fault!

Something inside John clicked into place.

Took your time, Johnny boy. Finally found something worth fighting for. Let's get this prick.

John had no argument. He growled and snapped his teeth together, crouching low and looking at the consulting criminal. The confidence suddenly fled the criminal, his eyes widening as he realised what had happened.

His plan had failed. He had wanted John's other side to come out, kill all the people in the stadium, Sherlock included, and get himself taken in or killed in the process which would have meant a life of misery in a lab for John. But he was wrong. John had put himself back together again. He had control over both halves now and the only person he intended to kill was the one who had taken everything from him, the one who had set this up, the one who had let Sherlock die.

The mouse in a Westwood suit parading as a man.

John roared again and Moriarty started backing up. He had to know. He had to know there was no way out of this. Moriarty was dead. John lunged forward, crashing into the man, sending them both through the wall of the big top. John clawed at Moriarty, ripping flesh from his bones, organs from his stomach, the eyes from his head, listening to him scream and scream. John reached to his chest, pushing his claws through the skin between his ribs. His screams softened, turning to a gurgling whimper as blood filled his throat.

"The only way to deal with rats is poison," John growled next to his ripped and torn ear. "I am your poison." Moriarty gave a bloody chuckle.

"Well," he gasped. "The only way… to deal with cats… is downing. The flood… is still coming, pet. I'll be waiting… for the sun." Another laugh forced itself through his windpipe and then he was still, the smile frozen on his face below the bloody blackened holes of his eyes.

John heaved himself from the bloody mess of a body, looking down at what he'd done. He felt relief… and shame. John took a deep, calming breath and forced away the change. He shrank down to his normal size once again, the tail swishing between his legs and the ears flattened to his head. It took all of John's strength to make his legs move. He had to go back. He needed to see.

John walked through the carnage of the hurriedly abandoned circus tent, ignoring the gunman's body and the moaning of the men he'd thrown, some injured and laying broken on the ground. His vision tunnelled so that all he could see was the body of the greatest detective to ever live. He walked numbly, his feet dragging and his hooded eyes glazed. John dropped to his knees beside him and looked at his form.

That was when he noticed it.

There was no blood. None. Not a drop of it was on Sherlock's white shirt. John felt like he hadn't been breathing since he changed. His shaking hands ripped the shirt open, not caring for the buttons that flew off in every direction. A sob escaped his throat. He collapsed on top of the body. This crazy, stupid genius.

John's face rested on the wonderfully comforting solidity of Kevlar.

Sherlock groaned under him and more tears fell over his cheeks. Alive, he thought. He's alive.

"John," Sherlock called. Oh god, John had never been so happy to hear anyone's voice. "Would you mind getting up? I have still been impaled, if you'll remember."

John cried harder. He sat up and gathered his best friend into his arms. "I thought you were dead. Jesus, I thought I killed you…"

"Damaged, not dead." Sherlock winced. Outside, they heard the distant whir of police sirens. Someone had obviously called the police after John's performance. "John, you can't let them see you."

"I'm not leaving you!" John yelled in a panic.

"And I wouldn't let you out of my sight," Sherlock said firmly. He reached into his pocket and produced two of John's blue pills. The doctor sighed in both gratitude and resignation. "I know you hate to take them but you have no other option."

"I know, I just…They make me feel like I'm hiding, like what I am is shameful…"

Sherlock grabbed John's jaw and forced him to look into his eyes. "You are anything but shameful. What you have is a gift. It's so special I don't want anyone else to see it." Sherlock pulled John to him and kissed him hard. John smiled against his lips. He clasped his hand over Sherlock's, taking the pills from his fist. John swallowed them and settled in against his partner's side to wait.

Sherlock felt the warmth of his flatmate. Friend? Boyfriend? It didn't matter. They were together, Moriarty was dead. He closed his eyes and leaned into John. He had a feeling they were going to be okay.

A/N: Thank you again guys! I can never say how much it means to me that this story got the support it did. Thank you for all your amazing reviews and your kind words. I hope to see you guys round the twist! I love you all!