Second to last chapter...
Chapter 25
Moriarty had been sent to a mental institution a couple of weeks after being arrested. He is currently undergoing therapy and has been talking to his psychiatrist on a daily basis in a open-minded, optimistic manner. He had made tremendous progress and he is expected to be released from the hospital in under a year.
Sebastian Moran visited him as often as he was able to. And it would be a lie if someone described them to be ill-fitting for each other. It was as if they were two halves of a heart. The doctors and nurses were always gossiping about the two and how it was incredibly odd but amazingly lovely.
But Sherlock wasn't making progress whatsoever. Sherlock had made a promise to Moriarty that he would get help, because it would have meant the world to John if he was still there. Unreluctantly, he agreed. He had been in the institution for the same amount of time as Moriarty, but he was hostile towards every one. He despised talking to his therapist, refused to take his medication and he even attempted to escape the hospital through the barred windows using shoe laces and three bobby pins which he had discreetly taken out of a young nurse's hair.
He felt trapped. It was as if his mind palace was brought to life. It wasn't his brilliant, well-constructed mind palace he had known for the majority of his life, it was a new one. It was as though someone had reconstructed his mind palace so that it was now foreign to him, a place where he felt caged and uncomfortable. His mind palace was no longer a mind palace - it was rubble.
He wasn't living, he wasn't surviving, he was only classified as alive.
"Promise me you won't do anything stupid."
Moriarty's words echoed in his mind as he lightly whacked his head against the wall. He hated being in a claustrophobic environment because it was boring. It bored him and he wanted to be back at 221B with his skull and rotting experiments.
Sometimes he saw Moriarty pass his room. Though, Moriarty was never allowed to enter the room. Occasionally, Moriarty would sneak into Sherlock's room to talk to him. They also talked during breakfast, lunch, and dinner time because all the mental institution patients were gathered in the cafeteria.
They were also always given a white pill before bed, but Sherlock never took them. He hid them under his tongue and then when he was back in his room, he slipped them into his pillow case.
He was hoarding them.
Lestrade and Mycroft came by often, too. Mycroft hated seeing his brother in an enclosed space, looking depressed and inhumanly. He kept Sherlock's situation confidential and practically no one knew where the detective was besides him and Lestrade.
Lestrade and Mycroft were also incredibly surprised by Moriarty's sudden refraction from the his criminal network and personally congratulated him.
Only love had the ability to change one's mind.
Sherlock yelled an ear-splitting, high-pitched yell. No one could hear him, though. The rooms were sound proof. He had a red button to push if he ever needed anything. But he never touched it. He never thought to touch it.
At this point, Sherlock's mind was his enemy. It was completely against him. It threw painful memories every time he thought he was content again. It made him feel closed off from everybody, reminding him that no one else could love him as much as John could. It forced him to think that he was unworthy of a life.
Sherlock left his room, taking advantage the free-time hour. He shrugged past the other patients, who stared at him blankly. He was heading towards the back of the hospital, being attentive of his surroundings. If any of the doctors saw him in the area, they would lock him up in his room for days.
As soon as the coast was clear, he opened a door towards a staircase. It was unlocked, to his satisfaction. He climbed up all seven flights until he made it to the rooftop.
He opened the door, taking a step outside. He closed the door behind him and turned towards the sun, which shone down on his face, highlighting his features. He looked up at the light blue sky and smiled for the first time in months.
The wind started to blow, untangling his messy curly hair which was too long now. He laughed manically, still looking up at the sky. He spun in circles, his arms flailing outwards. Feeling dizzy, he plopped to the ground, laying down. He looked back up at the sky, and grinned even wider.
"Soon, my John...soon."