An angry crowd raged below. People demanded punishment for the one who plunged London into chaos. The Lord of Crime, towering over the waters of the Thames, looked into the distance, at the phantoms of flames that once licked the roofs and walls of residential and non-residential buildings. Nowadays, ruins and ashes remain, because with common efforts the residents managed to put out the fire and stop the flow of this madness. People of different classes joined forces to save the city, and now with hatred in their eyes they looked at the unfinished Tower Bridge, where Will stood on the edge of the beams, and his hair fluttered in the wind, and his soul did not move, submissively awaiting the end and the actions of the future hero, who - oh my God - he looked at his friend with hope. The screams of an angry crowd reached his ears, but Sherlock’s words were lost against this background, and nothing else touched Will, not even the possibility of salvation. Was there any point in it if the plan from the beginning was... like this? The young man turned all his anger and hatred against himself in order to become the one who will change the future, who will save the country from destruction. But who will save him? And does he need this salvation?