SPOILER: How season 7 ends, no matter what bullshit Heller tries to pull.
After Copper Bullet, Jane uses the favors he did Abbot to convince him to cut his leash from the hands of the FBI and go on protected from indictment for his murder, allowing him to quit with Teresa as a free man.
'Lazarus' is brushed off as a very subpar villain of Thomas Mcallister-esque proportions, the likes of whom even James Panzer outshines, and Jane and Lisbon get married as we all know is inevitable in White Orchids.
They have a house, they have a baby. Jane quickly realizes he needs a source of income if he is going to support his new family, so he takes up the psychic business again. It is, after all, what he is best at. Some years later, many people know Jane is the man who killed the famous serial killer Red John, so he speaks his mind on a talk show on what he felt about Red John, maybe changing a few details here and there. What an evil, sexually perverted, squalid egomaniac of a sociopath with pathetic delusions of grandeur he is. Who cares, he's dead right? It's been a few years, he killed him.
When that's done, he calls his wife to ask how she and the baby are doing, but gets no response.
"Must have a poker game." Patrick laughs to himself, assuming also the baby is being babysat by Grigsby before heading home.
He walks inside, closes the door behind him, wheels the children's training bike gifted by Grigsby aside, then steps up the stairs with a stupid smile on his face.
You can feel the dread when Patrick realizes there is another note on the door.
On the letter reads: "This is what happens when you fuck with me, Bruno."
The door opens to blotches of red on the wall, quickly bringing into focus the eyes of hell incarnate, that distinct pattern of blood trails that instantly shatters Patrick's very sanity.
FIN.
Cue reboot of the series on a different network, with writers who are actually competent enough to bring Red John the closure it deserves, with the kind of mastermind it deserves, and final confrontation it deserves.
