Gunfire was exchanged, and I could smell smoke.

The place was being set on fire.

"Dad!" I croaked, struggling to move under the weight of the door.

"Rachel," he rasped. Through the smoke, I noticed he, in fact, hadn't been crushed under the door. He was struggling to get me out from under it now. "Hang on."

"What's going on?" I twisted my head around.

"Don't know. Backup, I guess." I saw him frown. "Come on, help me."

"I'm trying!" I screamed as more loud pops rang in the air. "Dad!"

"I'm here, Rachel, I'm here. Hang on." I could hear him straining.

Slowly, but surely, I found myself out from under the door, my legs throbbing. Dad held me for a few seconds, and then he left to go retrieve his weapon.

"Go, go!" he urged, pushing me towards the open exit.

We burst into the night, leaving the smoking mansion behind. Dad kept hold of me, moving me when we heard shots our way. We were moving towards the woods.

I found myself separated from my dad when I tripped over a branch and he let go. I crashed through brushes, landing in dirt and grass.

"Rachel!" Dad shouted for me.

"Dad!" I squeaked, scrambling to my feet. Through the brush, the mansion continued to grow a fire inside. Who's inside? Who did that? Was that Dad and Sherlock's plan?

I ran away from the gunfire, deeper into the woods. Survival kicked in, and I ran as far away from the danger as possible. As I ran down the incline, I was tackled from behind, and we were both sent rolling.

When we untangled from each other, I tried to reach for the gun that fell from my attacker, but they dragged me away from it. I kicked at their face, so much so that their grip went limp on me. I lunged for the gun, pointing it at the unconscious body. Keep moving. You're still in danger. You're armed.

In the cover of night, I ran. I kept my hands out to make sure I didn't run face-first into any trees.

"Sherlock?" I whisper-shouted. "Dad?" The skin on my neck prickled.

"Boo."

I screamed, spinning around, jumping away from the Irish lilt. Fumbling with the gun in my hand, I pointed it shakily at Moriarty. How did he get here so fast?

"I'm right here, kitten," he said, pretending to clean out his ears. "My, that's a loud scream you've got. Too bad it's not the kind I'd love to hear from you."

"Stay away!"

He pouted. "Come now, Rachel, don't be stupid. Be a good girl and put the weapon down."

"I've got the weapon, you don't."

"I've got your father ready to be shot if I give the whistle."

"You're lying," I stammered. "You're a liar!"

"That's not very nice of you." He actually looked genuinely offended. "I've never called you anything mean."

"Stay back!"

"Rachel, darling. Let's stop this foolishness. You and I both know you won't do it," he crooned. I cocked the gun at his heart. "You're not a killer. Put it down."

"So you can kill me?" I laughed tartly. "Not a chance."

'You know I don't do things myself." He stepped closer. "Although, with how infuriating you've been lately, I've considered getting my hands dirty. I'll end you first, then your father."

"That's a first." I sniffled. "Step back. I mean it."

"Who's to say this isn't a bluff? That that weapon isn't loaded?" Another step closer. "Darling, you and I both know you aren't strong enough to go through with it. It takes a special kind of strength, which you don't possess."

The gun arm started to shake. But I killed Amanda. They did something to me to make me kill her. Why wouldn't I be capable of killing him? Because I would be consciously doing it. I wouldn't kill in a blackout state; I would kill and be present for it.

Moriarty took another step. His chest, his heart, rested against the barrel of the weapon. "You don't want to do this, love. Don't deprive Sherlock of the game. Don't deprive yourself of me, because I know it'll hurt you to lose me."

"Oh, it won't hurt me a damn bit," I snarled.

"First thing about killing someone: just do it. Don't let the victim see your fear." He smirked. "You're not serious about this. This is just a pathetic attempt at getting me to roll over and show my belly. I don't submit to anyone; they submit to me."

CRACK.

I stumbled back, horrified, sprayed with blood. There was a hole in his Westwood suit, and I could see the blood staining the fabric. His dark eyes met mine, and he was definitely surprised.

"Well," he croaked. "I guess you've got a pair after all...Rachel." He fell back into the grass, gurgling.

Numbly, I went to stand over his dying body. "In a twisted way, I guess I have to thank you for that," I said. "Despite all your attempts, I didn't break. I beat you, James Moriarty. Take that with you to Hell."

Moriarty laughed. He coughed, spitting up red, staining his teeth. "If you think it s-stops with me, kitten, y-you are in for a surprise." His head went to the side, face frozen with a smile and a mouth full of blood.

My veins went cold. Is this a trick? Is he playing dead? Is this a setup? I was terrified to find out for myself. God forbid that I did and he sprung alive and killed me himself. But he's pretty convincing, his eyes haven't blinked.

Maybe Jim Moriarty really was dead. Should I poke him with something? A stick?

It kept running through my mind: Jim Moriarty is dead. I killed him. The consulting criminal is no more. His sick game is over. Good triumphs. My head felt light-headed in that moment, that if I moved or did anything fast, I'd pass out in the grass near the body.

I stood beside the body, watching, just to be sure. I forgot about the burning building at the end of the woods. I forgot about Sherlock, my dad, and whoever else was still fighting inside that place. I was finally free from this monster. He wouldn't hurt, torture, or threaten anyone ever again.

The world was free of a tyrant. And of all people, I was the one to grant the world that freedom from Jim Moriarty.

"Rachel." I felt a hand on my gun-wielding arm. I jumped, glancing out of the corner of my eye. How is he so quiet? It was Sherlock. "It's over. Put it down."

I killed him. I actually killed a man. No, not a man, a monster. I killed a monster. "H-he might come back."

"No man can recover from that." I felt the gun get pulled from my hand.

"He faked his death before."

"Yes, just once." I watched as Sherlock went over to the body. I held in a breath. "No elaborate setup to make it look like he's dead. You shot him through the heart, no body armor to stop it. He has no pulse. He won't come back from a bullet to the heart."

How ironic. Moriarty wanted to burn the heart out of Sherlock. He got a bullet to the heart from the woman he tricked into loving him. I sniffled. "It's over."

"Yes, it is. He's dead, for good this time."

The shock made me collapse against Sherlock. Awkwardly, he gathered me up in his arms. I shivered. "What do we do now?"

"We get you to a hospital."

"I'm not hurt."

"You're in shock."

"Wouldn't you be?"

"You and I are very different people. You haven't taken a life before. This is new for you."

"Gee, thanks."

"Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard are back at the mansion. Bayley and Mary recruited them. We'll get you in their hands and go from there." Sherlock began to hike us up out of the woods. "They nearly got us all killed."

"Guess they couldn't sit on the sidelines anymore. You should've seen it coming, the both of you."

"How so?"

"Bayley is my fiancé, Sherlock. He wouldn't want to sit around and wait for me to be rescued."

"Apparently Mary didn't want to sit around and do nothing, either."

"What about Moriarty?"

"We'll figure it out. You don't need to worry about it."

"I do, I killed him," I whispered. My mind started to think up the worst thoughts. I'd be imprisoned, even though I killed a psychopath. Murder was murder, no matter who did the killing and who the victim was. I wouldn't get pardoned for killing Jim Moriarty, there was just no way. I would be in prison for the rest of my life. I would never get married to Bayley; it'd be the longest engagement in world history.

Would he even want to stay engaged to me for that long?

"Let the rest of us handle it, Rachel," Sherlock told me sternly. "Your concern is to not spiral into madness."

I huffed. "No pressure there. I only got emotionally and verbally tormented."

"You never had hands put on you?"

"Not by him, no." I shook my head. "You know how his game goes, Sherlock. It's more about the mind than anything. Your body can break, but it can recover. Your mind...that's harder to heal."

"Yours will, no matter what he's done or tried to do to you. You're capable of overcoming this. You've risen above everything that life has thrown at you."

"Since when are you the motivational speaker type?"

"It seems to ease you." I felt him shrug.

Police cars, sirens, tape, and officers greeted us once Sherlock got us out of the woods. The fire looked to be put out on the place. I wonder if there are any survivors.

"Rachel!"

Sherlock set me down just in time for Bayley to put his arms around me. I leaned into him heavily, feeling him tremble.

"You're okay, you're okay," he babbled. "I thought..."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I told him shakily. "I'm good."

"You—you ran off...we looked for you."

"Sherlock found me."

"You can't do stuff like that to me!"

"Bay, I'm exhausted."

"Let's get you into an ambulance, yeah? Have them check you out."

"Where're everyone else?"

"Safe. Minor bumps and bruises. Come on."

Bayley kindly helped me into the back of an ambulance, pulling an orange blanket tight around me. I gave Sherlock a thankful nod. I smiled warily as Greg Lestrade made his way over to us.

"Good to see you're alive, Rachel," he told me sincerely.

"It's good to be alive, Greg." I cleared my throat. "What's the damage?"

"We apprehended some of your kidnappers."

"Not all?" Bayley inquired.

"One got away, and we wish he hadn't. He's a high profile criminal."

"Must be Sebastian," I murmured.

Greg nodded. "Sebastian Moran, to be exact."

"You know that name means nothing to me, Greg."

"To us, it does. He had ties to Moriarty. He's another bloke who escaped us."

"He didn't," I coughed. "He's dead."

Greg looked at me in disbelief. "You're joking."

I shook my head. "Sherlock found the body, confirmed he wasn't breathing. Jim Moriarty is dead, Greg." I killed him, but nobody needs to know that.

"Well, I'll be damned. So that leaves Moran on the run."

I huddled closer to Bayley, who held me tighter. The worry of Sebastian Moran being on the run filled me. He could most certainly come after us. Soon or in the long run, I wasn't sure.

Once Greg left, the back doors of the ambulance were shut, obscuring my view of the outside. Bayley held onto me the entire, slightly bumpy ride to the hospital.

"It's over," he murmured into my hair. "It's finally over."

I fell asleep halfway through the ride. 

**This was a pretty empowering moment for Rach, despite, you know, killing a guy. 

She freed herself from him. Freed the world from him. When the idea came to have Rach have the honor...it felt poetic. 

Whether or not she really meant to pull the trigger or her finger slipped, well, that's up to us to assume. [shrugs]**