It was quicker and easier than blinking.
One moment he was huddled on the floor of a grimy telephone booth. The young man winced as he eased himself into a fetal position, his arms curling against his thin chest. Fear was clouding his vision, consuming his rational thoughts. Sherlock shuddered, his breath coming out in shallow pants. His dark sweaty curls clung to his forehead uncomfortably. The darkness was beginning to grip him. Panic gurgled in his throat.
If he let himself go now, there was no telling what state he would be in when he woke up.
Or if he would wake up.
It was too late. His eyes were rolling to the back of his head. His eyelids closed with dreadful finality.
When Sherlock opened his eyes, he was no longer crumpled on the unforgiving concrete. He awoke standing erect in a darken corridor, towering identical doors lining the infinite hall. Sherlock's eyes widened with surprise, and he stumbled to balance himself as he regained his bearings. Dread crawled down his spine as his glacier eyes pierced the darkness.
A figure stood a few feet away, assessing him with narrowed eyes.
"You don't have much time, I'm afraid." Came the dark chuckle. Sherlock blinked rapidly, the hairs on his neck standing on end.
"Of course," The velvet voice drawled. "You have one hour, possibly. If you're lucky, maybe longer. But then again, luck is never on your side, is it?" Sherlock clenched his jaw, trying to abate his rising panic.
"You." Sherlock growled, his baritone rumbling in the back of his throat. "You're supposed to be locked away."
"I'm supposed to be dead." The voice spat, causing Sherlock to flinch as its abruptness. Footsteps echoed their approach, reverberating on the cold walls.
Moriarty's leering face peered out from the shadows, watching Sherlock wolfishly. "And yet, here I am all the same. Dear me, it seems like the smidgen of control you had has finally… snapped."
"Leave me alone."
"Or what?" Moriarty sneered. "You'll lock me up again?" Moriarty's eyes flashed with demented glee. "Not an option anymore, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock rolled his shoulders back, refusing the terrible urge to back down, to run, to hide.
He could not hide within his own mind. When he had built his Mind Palace as a lonely teenager all those years ago, he had seen it as his only sanctuary. With the woes of the mundane- why were people so slow?!- he had resolved to turn inward. In his own mind, there were no spiteful teachers and abusive classmates. Roaming the halls of his mind palace, he could see with blinding clarity. It was intoxicating.
But the price had been much too high.
"You said I was running out of time." Sherlock said slowly, peering down at Moriarty. "One hour… what did you mean-"
"You know, don't be so boring." Moriarty groaned, rolling his eyes. "You've been feeling it coming on for a while, haven't you? Creeping up on you, ready to pounce?" Moriarty leaned in, his voice becoming a low whisper.
"You're dying, Sherl."
"Ah. Yes, I see." Sherlock muttered offhandedly, his eyebrows knitting together in thought. "I was afraid of that."
"After all the times I tried to kill you and you survived, and this is how you die?!" Moriarty shrieked, his dark eyes widening with anger. "I had so many glorious plans! Explosives, snipers, hostages- even a forced suicide, how original can you get?!- and you decide to die abandoned and alone. That's a spit in the face for me."
"Oh, shut up! I need to think," Sherlock snapped, licking his lips nervously. "I have an hour… I can reach medical assistance before blood loss stops oxygen from circulating from my vital organs."
"No, no, no!" Moriarty screeched, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with madness. "You're missing the point. In the end, your transport is going to fail you." Moriarty spat savagely. "Because you let it." Sherlock paled as Moriarty's words sunk in.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock demanded. Moriarty turned his back on him, strolling away down the corridor lazily. Sherlock swallowed, his fist clenching.
"I said, what do you mean?!" Moriarty turned slowly, amused by Sherlock's desperation. Smugly he waltzed back, his grinning teeth and eyes flashing in the dim light.
"Tick tock, goes the clock…" Moriarty hummed singsong, sauntering over to Sherlock and invading his space with a bold stride. "You've been hurdling towards self-destruction for years now. It's all the noise up here, isn't it?" Moriarty reached out, flicking Sherlock's temple teasingly. Sherlock took a step back, seething with both fear and rage as Moriarty continued to advance on him unrelentingly.
"Drugs couldn't turn it off, oh no." Moriarty taunted. "Even the work couldn't get it to stop. You don't even need me to destroy you. You've done it all yourself. It's all too easy!" Moriarty snickered, rubbing his hands with glee. "You built so much on your mind palace! You poured out your soul, building the fortifications of your deepest fears and darkest secrets, brick by brick. It is truly amazing, how much you applied yourself here. Lingering in these halls, forgoing the mundane for the superior reality of your own mind. It became your obsession, didn't it? You slaved and drudged and toiled to lock yourself away from the world. Sacrificed everything for it. You splintered the fragile connections to family, to your own body, even to emotion. Your mind palace became far more powerful than yourself." Moriarty barred his teeth in a savage grin. "People think that you used the drugs to distract yourself from the mundane, but we both know that's not true."
"Shut up." Sherlock choked, trembling rooted in place as Moriarty's words stripped him apart. He didn't want to remember those dark times, he couldn't think about-
"Those drugs," Moriarty whispered, his words dripping delicately like poison. "Weren't an escape from the mundane. You were trying to find a way out… of here."
Sherlock sputtered as though he had been dosed in ice cold water, shame and dread ensnaring him. Without warning he remembered those times.
-The syringe glistened silver, the needle point gleaming wickedly amidst the shadows. His hands shook as he held onto tightly, his breath hitching. The clamoring reverberating in his skull was too much, the constant cacophony of voices and noises pounding. His chest seemed to have an iron band enclosing it, constricting everything as the commotion continued unbidden. It was beyond his control. The syringe reflected off the dim light, like a key to the door he was trying desperately to open-
"You've tried so hard to escape." Moriarty muttered. "And you almost succeeded. The walls are crumbling down, but they're bringing you with them."
"Panic attacks, a severe post-traumatic stress disorder, mental instability, and psychoneurotic episodes coupled with physical shock and abuse." Sherlock listed automatically, running a hand shakily through his hair.
"Everything comes with a price." Moriarty chuckled darkly. "I paid mine. Are you ready to pay for yours, Mr. Holmes?"
"No!" Sherlock hissed venomously. "I refuse to give up so easily. If I can find help within the hour-"
"It's going to be awfully difficult if everyone's out there and you're in here." Moriarty laughed wickedly.
"I'll find a way out." Sherlock said hastily. Ignoring Moriarty, he turned and stumbled down the corridor.
"It's too late!" Moriarty furiously called after him. "You've already dug yourself a hole so deep you can't climb out! Sherlock!"
But Sherlock was already gone, lost inside the labyrinth of his own mind.
Not. Dead.
Oh, it's good to be back! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, because a sleepless night went into it. If you liked it, leave a review! Any suggestions or comments are appreciated.