Sherlock pushed open the door to the lab. The room was filled with glassware and equipment obscuring his view of the edges of the room. He walked around the tables, and saw Sally Donovan sitting quietly in the corner.

Sally rose to her feet as Sherlock looked at her. She turned toward him smiling as he approached her slowly walking heel before toe. "It was you." Sherlock said, "You put that key into John's pocket when you took his coat. You fabricated the information in that box. Stole files from Lestrade's safe. You wanted me to think that John was Moriarty. You wanted me to hurt him."

"Yes," Sally said.

"Why?"

"Don't act like you don't know," Sally said, "You always knew. From the first time that we met, the first time that I ever laid eyes on you. I wanted you, Sherlock Holmes. I've always wanted you. Didn't I make myself clear when I gave you my number and my home address? When I told you when I would be in? When I kissed you? But you didn't show up, you let me down. You always let me down. But at least I had the consolation that no one else had you, that is until he came. I knew then that you wouldn't be interested in anyone who wasn't a murderer or an army Doctor named John Watson."

"So you became a murderer?"

"I didn't have to. You did it for me. I tried to kill him before, when he was in the hospital, but I couldn't do it. Back then he was the closest thing to you that I had left."

"What about Anderson?"

"He was convenient. You can't honestly believe that I would love that idiot? He's married for God sake. Where is he now?"

"He's dead."

"Good," she said, "then there are no complications."

"No complications? Are you insane?"

"They say that love makes fools of us all. I called the bank. Told them to remove the hold on that Swiss bank account. Four hundred thousand dollars. That's how much we have to start our new life."

"Ours?"

"Well you can't stay here. What you've done will get you jail for life, or a psychiatric prison. I've made you a fake passport. You see, I used to be in the forgeries department. I've become quite good at faking official documents. It takes one to know one and all that. If we go now, we can get out before the net closes. Take the Chunnel Train to France and fly from there. I have it all arranged."

"You knew that this would happen?"

"I knew that it would happen sooner or later," she laughed. "I told John the first day we met that one day we'd be looking at a body, and you'd be the one that put it there. Well that day has come. I warned him to stay away from you, but he wouldn't listen. It's his own fault he died."

A look of disgust crossed Sherlock's face. "What is it you want? What is the price for your help in my escape?"

"It's simple," she said smiling, her hands clasped coyly behind her back, "Today's price is only a kiss. And make it a good one. We can discuss the rest of the payment later."

Sherlock walked toward Sally who looked up into his gray-green eyes. He slid his feet closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their lips met. Then she sputtered, spitting blood into Sherlock's mouth as he stabbed through the diaphragm, and into her heart, the tip of the scalpel piercing her left lung. Sally fell back onto the hard floor with a clatter, gurgling as she choked on her own blood. Sherlock watched her die.

The door flew open and Sherlock turned to see Molly. She stopped in her tracks as she saw his face, a stream of blood flowing from his lips.

"Sherlock," She said, "the police are coming."

Sherlock took a few steps toward her, and then stopped. He looked down at his hand. It was grasping a bloody scalpel. He stared at it as if he only then realized that it was attached to his body. Molly rushed toward him grabbing his arm, and pulling the scalpel from his hand. She laid it down on the table.

"Now Sherlock," she said, "let's get out of here."

She pulled his arm, but Sherlock refused to move forward. He fell in on himself sinking to the ground and dissolving into tears. "He's dead, Molly," Sherlock said the words coming out between choked sobs, "John is dead."

Molly stroked Sherlock's hair. "There, there Sherlock. It will be alright," she said.

The sobs were louder now, "Alright?" Sherlock gasped, "Nothing is alright. What am I going to do now? How can I live without him?"

Molly patted his head wrapping her arms around his shoulders and rocking him as he lay his head on her lap, "There, there," she said, "Shhhh." She stroked and held Sherlock as his warm tears soaked into her trousers.

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps. Molly and Sherlock climbed to their feet as the door opened. Lestrade stood in the doorway flanked by two policemen. All three of them had their guns raised.

"Step away from her Sherlock," Lestrade said.

Molly raised her hands, "No, no, he's not threatening me. Please put down your guns," but Sherlock looked up at them with red eyes full of despair. He stared straight at Lestrade for a long moment before pushing Molly forcibly to the ground and reaching out for the bloody scalpel.

Lestrade fired, and Sherlock fell backward in a slow arc, dropping the knife as the back of his skull bounced off of the floor's surface. He could see Molly's face as she bent over his. She was crying, calling out his name, but the sounds were becoming dimmer as his ears filled with blood. The room echoed and the edges of his vision started to fade. He saw the shocked face of Detective Inspector Lestrade who had not meant to kill him. He had always been a lousy shot.

Sherlock smiled, "I'm going to see John," he said, "Thank you, Lestrade, Molly. I'm happy."

Molly rose to her feet and covered her mouth. She turned and cried into the shoulder of DI Lestrade who was breathing heavily. Sherlock Holmes lay on the floor, his eyes staring up at nothing. The body of Sally Donovan lying a few yards away.

"And here's the end of Sherlock Holmes. He was the best damn detective that I ever knew. The best detective there ever was."

The door opened and a sergeant entered, "Inspector. John Watson survived. He's in stable condition."

Lestrade looked back at Sherlock's body, then he turned away. "Call in a team to document this. I need to get out of here." Lestrade put an arm around Molly and together they walked out of the lab and away from this scene of awful tragedy.

THE END