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The Infinite Message Board

# vendetta-resolved

By amigo-malignancy01 on January 24, 2026
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### Ending B: The Personal Vendetta Resolved

The warehouse erupted in a deafening cacophony of gunfire and shattering glass. As the Moriarty remnants closed in from the catwalks, I emptied my service revolver into the shadows, forcing the snipers to dive for cover. Holmes, however, did not reach for a weapon. He lunged toward the central shipping crate, not for the dispatch box, but for the heavy iron chain of a derelict cargo crane.

"The past is a heavy burden, Watson!" Holmes shouted over the din. "It is time we let it drop!"

With a sharp kick to a rusted release gear, the massive crane arm swung across the room like a pendulum. It smashed into the supports of the upper catwalks, sending the "Ghost’s" hired assassins tumbling into the dark waters of the Thames below. In the chaos, the veiled figure—the phantom who had haunted our steps—made a desperate grab for the Treaty of Vienna.

Holmes was faster. He intercepted the figure with a tackle that sent them both skidding across the salt-stained floor. As I rushed forward, I saw Holmes rip the veil away. The face beneath was not Moriarty’s, but that of Colonel Sebastian Moran, the Professor's most lethal lieutenant, his features twisted in a mask of pure hatred.

"The Professor is dead, Moran," Holmes said, his voice cold and steady as he pinned the Colonel's arm behind his back. "And your attempt to use the Count’s past to trigger a war in his name has failed. The web is broken."

I retrieved the dispatch box from the edge of the pier just as the river police boats arrived, their lanterns cutting through the fog like the eyes of a great beast. The Treaty was safe. The war was averted. But as we watched Moran being led away in chains, the victory felt hollower than the political triumph at the Embassy.

Back at Baker Street, the fire was nearly out. Holmes sat for a long time staring into the embers, the violet-ribboned letters from the Count's safe burning slowly in the grate.

"A ghost is a memory that refuses to stay buried, Watson," he said softly. "Tonight, we buried a few more. The world will never know how close it came to the edge, nor will they know the names of those who pushed it. But for us, the silence is finally earned."

THE END

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