Moriarty caught Molly's now limp body and moved the hair out of her face to gaze at her clouding eyes. She was still alive but her broken neck was preventing her from breathing normally; Jim quickly assessed that one of her broken bones was jutting into her windpipe, cutting off a lot of air from there.

For a long ten seconds he stared at her, felt her trembling body in his arms, watched at her face went from white, to gray, to having a hue of blue…

Moriarty sighed and expertly pushed the jutting bone away from her windpipe, allowing her to convulse from the pain and take in a gasp of air successfully.

He glared through his drying tears and let her body fall to the ground; she whimpered as she hit the ground but couldn't move. She was so weak, so ordinary, and so BORING. But even with all that, Moriarty couldn't bring himself to let her die; her loss would make him feel too empty.

He would have to be content with having broken her neck.

"Can you move, Molly?" he asked curiously, slumping to his knees.

Her reply came out choked and only slightly resembled a "no."

Jim moved her head so she could breathe for efficiently.

"I think you're paralyzed from the waist down," he explained, his mind betraying him. He was filled with a sudden rage, infuriated at the thought that someone dared to hurt her, HIS MOLLY; it took another long couple of moments for him to remember that he himself had been the one to break her neck.

"That was...my fault…" he breathed in realization.

Molly laid on the floor, trembling as much as she was able, feeling tears streak her face, as she watched the criminal who seemed to have gone 'round the bend a bit further than usual, more in and out of his already only sometimes sanity. Worry slowed her mind and she felt utterly helpless.

The realization of his part in the whole thing seemed to thicken Jim's mind for the first time in his life. He did it; he broke her neck. He tried to kill her. He did.

"Shut up," he breathed weakly. "SHUT UP!"

He slammed his hands on the floor. A piece of broken glass jutted into the side of one of his fists and he cursed aloud, snatching it to himself. After pulling out the shard of glass, he licked the blood from his wound and began to laugh quietly; at that moment, the sight of blood had reminded him of the game.

A psychopath cannot feel remorse, but something in the criminal felt responsibility for what had happened and that responsibility, perhaps for the first time, was not accompanied by pride or indifference. He almost felt disgusted.

And Jim no longer saw the need to win the game, only to show up, to give Molly to his favorite wind-up detective for her safety, and to devise a new surprise.

Change of plans. The game is about to start.-M

He laid down his mobile and scooped Molly up as if she weighed nothing.

"Don't worry," Jim said soothingly. "It'll all be over soon."

He walked out of the apartment, trying to ignore the trembling of his own limbs.

Sherlock and John walked onto Aldersgate street and looked around. Nothing seemed out of order but the both of them knew that just about anything they could imagine might just happen at any moment.

It was only an hour and a half before they were originally supposed to meet with the serial killer and it didn't look like he'd shown up yet. A few houses surrounded them and a local grocers as well; other than that it was empty.

Suddenly Sherlock's mobile sounded the alert for a text message. He snatched the phone out if his pocket and read the message intently. After a few moments he shoved it back into his pocket.

"What was that, then?" John asked eagerly.

"A riddle," Sherlock explained thoughtfully. "It has no hinges, key, or a lock, yet golden treasures hide inside."

"...eggs?" John suggested.

"Yes, brilliant, but I've already figured out that bit," Sherlock said sarcastically. "But why did he send it..."

Sherlock's phone went off again and as soon as he read the message, his eyes darted towards the grocers and he turned to John.

"Go into the grocers and go into the refrigerator where they keep the eggs. That's where you'll find Molly."

John immediately ran towards the grocers and Sherlock turned back the way he had been facing to see Moriarty standing before him, looking like a complete mess.

His open vest, his uncouth hair, and his crazed smile, which almost looked sad, sent a shiver of uncertainty down Sherlock's back. The criminal was holding a gun at his side.

"So Sherlock," Moriarty began. He clutched the gun hard and tried to keep his body from shaking; he was excited for the end of his game. "It's been fun watching you squirm. But the game is over..."

"No it's not," Sherlock said doubtfully.

Moriarty saw no other way I end the game and he set the gun against his head.

Sherlock knew this was no bluff.

"What do you hope to gain from this?" Sherlock asked, hoping the criminal wouldn't do himself in without answering.

Time seemed to be moving slower and Moriarty looked at the detective and smiled, but this time the smile held no malice or bitterness in it.

"Some peace and quiet maybe," Jim said and after a moment he have a little hesitant wave. Sherlock looked on, confused.

"Yeah...that's not gonna happen." Moriarty laughed, a mocking grin taking the other ones place.

All at once, John came running out, holding Molly. Sherlock turned at the sound of John's voice and at that moment, a gunshot rang out and Moriarty fell to the ground dead, a pool of blood quickly trickling out of his head.

Sherlock's ears rang and he ran to John, barely hearing the doctor say, "she's still alive!" An something about a hospital. Molly's shoulders shook with cold and her pale face was pained; Sherlock was the only one that noticed that anything below her waist was unresponsive.

But she was alive, and the devil was dead.

Fin

(Alternate Ending)