*I own nothing sadly, except for myself and an assortment of poems, also in another note up ahead in this chapter there are going to be gay slurs that I in no way support the usage of. I am not homophobic but the character is.*

Sherlock POV

"You think you've won," a voice came from the big office chair in the middle of the room. Sherlock did a quick survey of the room; it'd be terrible to come all this way to fall prey to a trap, it was only slightly surprising that he hadn't bit down already. They all seem to have some sort of cyanide releasing mechanism in their back molar.

"No. I know it," said Sherlock as he sauntered into the boss's office which smelled of smoke and the dead plants sitting on ledges that were a failed attempt to brighten the place up.

"You fool," he approached the chair carefully, towards the grinning voice. He grabbed the back of the chair and spun it around. The man didn't even fight, but huffed smoke into Sherlock's face, and put his cigarette out on the arm of his chair.

"I'm the one who dismantled this limb of yours, and your men barely fought as they were torn down brutally. And you're just sitting here, doing nothing. The least you can do is run." The old man just smirked and smiled a rotten smile that made his skin crinkled around his sunken eyes. He really was quite pathetic looking to be any sort of boss.

"Why would I run when I know there's nothing to run from?" The man lit another cigarette.

"Nothing huh? You just let your pathetic limb of a network crumble? You're a disappointment." The tall detective growled.

"You've gotten angry…and I haven't even lifted a finger. However to answer your sub- textual hate-filled question…It's my God's will." He smirked.

"Your God?!" Sherlock scoffed and took a step back and scoffed some more. "Never took you men as the religious type."

"Oh I'm not, but I'll agree on everyone else's behalf…he's the closet to God there'll ever be." Sherlock grabbed the chair and pulled him close to his face.

"And who is 'he'"

"Moriarity." The man grinned his blackened grimace, and with that Sherlock pulled his face closer to his and smirked.

"Your God ate his own lead." And he laughed maniacally and hacked phlegm into Sherlock's disgusted face, "You repel me," He spat back and turned around to leave the scum to bite his little pill and die.

"I'm surprised you ever jumped, Sherlock," the scum continued to chuckle. "Have the world believe you're a fraud!" Sherlock stopped and heaved a frustrated sigh.

"You really should bite down," but he didn't stop.

"Even your dear John believed didn't he?" He shook like an over excited Chihuahua.

"He believes what he must."

"Is he your friiieend?" he sauntered halfway to the disgusted man.

"Doesn't matter." And he tried to continue on.

"That's it…you machine, just run away from every last fucking thing. Why'd you even jump, it's not like you ever gave a shit, Sherlock, all you are is a brain and you wouldn't even cry if you had let them blow off your sweet John's head—," suddenly the man couldn't breathe as his airway was cut off by a pair of thick hands.

"You're right, I'm a sociopath and can kill you right now with no remorse," Sherlock growled in the scum's ear as his grip tightened. The man struggled and his face turned many shades of red, "but that wouldn't be any fun." He let go, leaving him gasping for air. "You can bite down, or continue to be a pathetic piece of shit among a failing network. I don't care." With that he whooshed away.


"He was a fraud." He was a boy compared to John, tattooed and annoying, and probably about to die. John gritted his teeth as though "his cool" was a fraying rope that he was trying to hold on to. He held his gun firmly planted between his eyes.

"You can come willingly or I will shoot you in the foot and I will drag you by your ears," he threatened through clenched teeth. The boy just laughed.

"Damn I'm really scared, an old man with a limp pointing a gun at me…you're gay as fuck, and so was that pansy Sherlock Holmes. I bet you butt-fucked each other didn't you? Leading you on and on as some great mastermind then just leaving you? I bet that hurt didn't it? Listen to me homey, stick the gun up your ass and pull the fucking trigger you faggot." He spewed out, and John slowly put down his gun.

"Alright. You're right. You're so right," he turned around, and when the kid doubled over laughing, he pounced. His fist found itself being thrown repeatedly at the kid's gut. "Not so vile now are you, you little brat?" The kid screamed and lifted his hands up to his face.

"STOP GET OFF ME!" He shrieked, except John only heard his blood pounding in his ears, and suddenly he was being dragged forcibly backwards and his face shoved into the asphalt.

"John!" The man on top of him was screaming in his ear. "WHAT THE FUCK! DO YOU WANT A LAWSUIT!? ALL HE DID WAS GRAFFITI THE FUCKING PARLIAMENT BUILDING!" John didn't struggle and when he opened his eyes it was blurry, and there was a pain in his throat, there were two feet in his line of sight.

"John." He groaned in response. "You're a fool, and you're fired." Cool. He thought, as the pressure was released from his back and his head. He sat up, crossed his legs and buried his face in his hands. This was all so screwed up. He clenched his skull tighter, willing it to crumble between his hands. Something was crumbling inside of him…and he was being crushed by the accumulating pile of it.

"Why are you crying?" He looked up and there stood Sherlock solemnly looking down upon him. John didn't blink; he just felt his face for tears, and found there were a lot.

"I…I don't know…aren't you the expert?" He shook his head and disappeared, leaving him to drown some more.

*So finally I finished that chapter…I've had a lot of stuff plus some annoying bouts of writers block...read/rate/review pleeeaase xD *