Like being yanked up by the shirt collar, Sherlock felt a lurch and landed in a spinning chair. Molly to his left and John to his right.
Where had Moriarty gone? He could be raging havoc in Sherlock's mind. By the looks on his friends' faces, they had no idea what had happened.
"Sherlock?" John seemed to ask, but he couldn't be sure. The sound rippled like a wave and blurred into nothing.
"William?" That sounded weird. He hadn't been called that in-
Argh! Sherlock's face spun to the side. The slight sensation of a sting feeling more like an aftertaste.
Molly. Of course. His eyes begun to focus and assess the situation. This looked like an interrogation.
Molly asked the first question: "Why are you in the conference room?"
"I wasn't aware that I was."
"What?" John, now. "So you just fog-walked your way across town and somehow broke into the lab?"
"I guess so."
"Well then," John said, seeming unsatisfied. "Why here?"
"Less lonely here." Molly seemed to think over that.
"But you were alone." Concern filled her face.
"No," Sherlock explained. "I woke up and you two were here. Not alone."
It seemed like a strange answer, but it worked. John's shoulders seemed to relax and Molly stuck her hands in her labcoat pockets.
"Well I guess…" John faded out. Trying to make out what he said, Sherlock shook his head. It felt like fog was filling his brain and clogging his senses. His friends faded and were replaced by a golden room.
It was beautiful. Not necessarily the room itself, but what it held. John and Mary stood waving, Mary holding a bundle of blanket in her arms. Molly, Greg, and Anderson stood behind them. His mum and dad were on the side, and even Mycroft was there, crossing his arms with a smirk. Sherlock knew why Redbeard wasn't there. Sherlock had made him his own special space.
A shudder shook the room. Turning around, Sherlock saw Moriarty. The face of Death stood, leaning against the wall. A chuckle resonated from the man.
"Hi there, Sherl," teased Jim, "Isn't this a beautiful room?" He gestured to all of Sherlock's friends and family.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock hissed.
"What do you mean?" Jim said this with a hurt expression in his eyes, but it soon turned to a vicious smirk. "I broke out of my cell. I came back. There's no escaping me, if you can't find me."
"But I have found you," returned Sherlock.
"Have you? You can't find me. I'm a spider, a speck. Even in a cell, your life can crumble by my hand."
With a sweeping motion by Jim's hand, the surrounding friends and family members dissolved. Sherlock glared at the criminal.
"When will you stop? You've killed me, destroyed me, hurt John, hurt everyone? WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"
Sherlock screamed that with his eyes clamped shut. When his eyes opened, Jim was gone. Lost again. John and the others had not returned. Struck with despair, helplessness, hopelessness, and distress, Sherlock fell to the ground and wept.
What could he do? Moriarty made it clear in the years passed that Sherlock's life was at his mercy. The stunned man stayed on the hard floor, crying and shaking.
After minutes, maybe hours(it was hard to tell), the gold room faded and Sherlock found himself sitting up in the chair. Wet tears stuck to his face. His eyes blinked, trying to focus. Across from him, John sat, staring. His friend's face reflected confusion and concern.
"What the Hell was that?!" John was trying to control obvious anger and fear. "Do you always just 'fade out'?"
Sherlock shrugged, still trying to decipher reality from Mind Palace.
"How long has it been?" Sherlock asked, voice croaking.
"Three hours," John replied. "You missed lunch."
John slid an apple toward Sherlock, who turned the fruit around on the table by the stem.
"What did you hear?" he asked, not making eye contact with John.
"Not much. Groans and tears."
"I'm sorry."
"What for? What happened?"
Sherlock thought over his answer for a few seconds. John leaned in to hear him better.
"I-I saw him."
"Him? You mean…"
"Moriarty, yes. He got out. Ran."
"Ran where?" John asked, concerned.
"My mind," Sherlock stated, still not making eye contact. "I got him, but he disappeared again.'
John seemed confused at this. He looked away, toward the window, where he saw Molly at her work station. She was distracted from them.
"Are you okay?" He asked Sherlock, leaning in.
"What do you call okay?"
John glared at Sherlock's vague answer. He revised his question:
"Are you hurt?"
Sherlock appeared as if he would once again question John's words, but he decided against it.
"No."
"Good." John seemed to relax a little. He wanted to believe his friend and know Sherlock was alright, but something in his mind(maybe instinct?) told him to keep an eye out for his friend. John Wouldn't let Sherlock get hurt again. He couldn't.
He slapped his knees and hoisted himself up onto his feet to end the conversation.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "We can go get some real food."
"No," Sherlock said without much thought. "No time for food. We have work to do."
John showed a look of concern for his friend, but knew better than to argue at a time like this. he watched as Sherlock stood rather quickly and swayed a little. John reached out quickly to support his friend, but Sherlock was already stable.
"The game is on," Sherlock declared, and he was off.
John followed, stopping in the door to take one last look at the place where his friend sat hurt, just moments before. The uneaten apple haunted him and stayed in the back of his mind as he turned back around, shut the door, and left the red fruit to watch the disintegration of the detective.