It was a gut punch. Honestly, there isn't a better way to describe the experience of watching Major Crimes season 6 when it first aired on TNT. Fans expected a victory lap. We expected Sharon Raydor to finally get her "happily ever after" with Andy Flynn. Instead, the showrunner, James Duff, decided to burn the whole house down.
It was bold. It was also incredibly polarizing.
If you talk to any die-hard fan of the The Closer spin-off today, the conversation inevitably circles back to "Sanctuary City," "Confidence Man," and that final, crushing four-episode arc. Why did they do it? Why kill off the lead character before the series finale? To understand the weight of Major Crimes season 6, you have to look past the procedural elements and see it for what it actually was: a high-stakes gamble on the legacy of a character who redefined the "TV cop" archetype.
The Three-Arc Structure That Changed Everything
Most procedurals follow a "case of the week" format. You know the drill. A body is found, the team investigates, there’s a witty exchange in the electronics room, and by minute 42, the cuffs are clicking. Major Crimes season 6 threw that playbook out the window.
The season was divided into three distinct, multi-episode arcs. First, we had "Sanctuary City," which focused on the disappearance of three boys from a Catholic school trip. It was heavy. It dealt with the complex intersection of faith, immigration, and the priesthood. It felt like the show was finally leaning into the "Major" part of its title. These weren't just neighborhood murders anymore; these were systemic failures.
Then came "Confidence Man."
This arc brought back the terrifying Billy Santana and forced the team into a psychological chess match. It showcased Mary McDonnell’s incredible range. Sharon Raydor wasn't just a commander; she was a mother, a wife, and a woman grappling with her own mortality. You could see it in her eyes. The fatigue wasn't just part of the script; it was baked into the very DNA of the season’s pacing.
Finally, we reached "By Any Means." This is where things got messy.
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Phillip Stroh returned. The boogeyman of the entire Closer and Major Crimes universe finally came home to roost. But he didn't return to find a vibrant team. He found a unit in mourning.
The Death of Sharon Raydor: Why It Happened
Let's be real. The decision to kill Sharon Raydor in episode 9, "Sanctuary City: Part 4," felt like a betrayal to many. Sharon had spent years evolving from the "Internal Affairs ice queen" we hated in The Closer to the beating heart of the LAPD. Her relationship with Rusty Beck was one of the most poignant portrayals of non-traditional family on television.
James Duff has been vocal about why he made this choice. He knew the show was ending. He wanted to see how the team would function without their "moral compass." He wanted to prove that the lessons Sharon taught—about the law, about justice, about family—would survive her.
It was a risky move. Some might say it was a mistake.
Watching Andy Flynn (played by Tony Denison) navigate the grief was harrowing. The wedding of Sharon and Andy earlier in the season felt like a gift to the fans, which made the subsequent tragedy feel even more cruel. It wasn't a "TV death" where she went out in a blaze of glory during a shootout. She died from a heart condition—hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It was quiet. It was sudden. It was brutally human.
The show spent its final four episodes focusing on the hunt for Phillip Stroh, but the shadow of Sharon’s death loomed over every frame. It turned a standard manhunt into a funeral procession.
The Phillip Stroh Factor
Billy Burke is fantastic as Phillip Stroh. He’s one of those villains you love to hate because he’s actually smart. He doesn’t make "villain mistakes." In Major Crimes season 6, Stroh’s return felt like the closing of a circle that began nearly a decade earlier.
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The stakes were higher because the team was compromised.
Rusty, played by Graham Patrick Martin, had the most to lose. His transformation from a homeless kid to a law student was the secondary engine of the show. Stroh was his personal demon. The way the writers tied Stroh’s endgame to Sharon’s legacy was clever, if a bit grim. It forced the characters to decide if they were going to follow Sharon's "by the book" philosophy or if they were going to sink to Stroh’s level to end the threat once and for all.
Why the Critics and Fans Disagreed
If you look at the ratings, the show was still doing well. TNT’s decision to cancel it was more about shifting brand identities than a lack of viewers. This context is important because it explains the "everything must go" energy of the final season.
Critics praised the ambition. They liked the serialized format. They felt the show was finally taking the risks it had avoided in earlier, more "comfy" seasons.
Fans? Not so much.
The "Shandy" shippers (Sharon and Andy fans) were devastated. There’s a segment of the audience that still refuses to watch the final episodes. They feel that after five seasons of growth, the characters deserved a sunset, not a storm. Honestly, it’s hard to argue with them. There’s something to be said for "comfort TV," and Major Crimes season 6 aggressively rejected that label.
Technical Details and Production Values
The production quality in this final run was noticeably elevated. The cinematography during the "Sanctuary City" arc had a cinematic, almost noir feel. The use of light and shadow in the LAPD offices reflected the darkening mood of the narrative.
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And the acting?
Mary McDonnell deserved an Emmy. Period. Her performance as a woman trying to manage a failing heart while leading a high-pressure investigation was nuanced and heartbreaking. Tony Denison, G.W. Bailey (Provenza), and Michael Paul Chan (Tao) brought a weary, lived-in energy to their roles. You could tell these actors had spent years in these skins. When Provenza finally takes command, it doesn't feel like a promotion; it feels like a heavy burden he never wanted but was born to carry.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
There’s a common misconception that the show was "ruined" by the finale.
Actually, the finale provided something rare in television: a sense of consequence. When Rusty finally faces Stroh, it isn't a clean, heroic moment. It’s messy. It’s traumatizing. It acknowledges that violence, even "justified" violence, leaves a mark on the soul.
The show didn't end with a party. It ended with the team sitting in the office, realizing that life goes on, but it will never be the same. Provenza’s final speech isn't about victory; it’s about the job. It’s about the fact that tomorrow, there will be another case, and another, and another.
Actionable Insights for Your Next Rewatch
If you’re planning to dive back into the series or watch it for the first time, keep these things in mind to get the most out of the experience:
- Watch for the foreshadowing: Sharon’s health isn't a sudden plot twist. The writers dropped hints about her fatigue and minor symptoms as early as season 5.
- Pay attention to the background characters: Buzz’s arc as a reserve officer reaches a beautiful peak here. His growth is the most "hopeful" part of a very dark season.
- Don't skip the "Sanctuary City" episodes: Even if you just want to get to the Stroh showdown, the first five episodes lay the emotional groundwork for how the team handles the later trauma.
- Notice the silence: The final season uses less incidental music than earlier years. This was a deliberate choice to make the world feel colder and more real.
The legacy of the show is complicated. It didn't give us the ending we wanted, but it gave us the ending that felt honest to the world it had built. It reminded us that in the world of major crimes, there are no easy wins.
For those looking to stream it, the series remains a staple on various VOD platforms and occasionally cycles through Max (formerly HBO Max). It’s worth the watch, even if you need to keep a box of tissues nearby. Just be prepared for the fact that by the time the credits roll on the final episode, you’ll feel like you’ve lost a group of friends. That’s the mark of great television, even if it hurts.