Author's note: Time for a confrontation. Enjoy and please review!

The shock at seeing Moriarty when he had been certain that he was in a cell – even after he had seen him commit suicide, even if it was only a memory, a recreation of the consulting criminal, he had not felt comfortable with putting him in one of his normal rooms; any information he needed about him he could easily take from the cases he had solved, but when it came to his personality, it was another matter – helped Sherlock to think clearly again.

Maybe because his appearance explained what had happened. He was not losing his mind. He was not going crazy.

Moriarty had escaped and was working against him, changing his mind palace. He would have believed it to be impossible, but he could not doubt it, not after seeing the consulting criminal. He was dressed in the suit he had worn at the Pool – Sherlock must have subconsciously put it on him under the straight jacket when he had locked him away – and carried himself like he always had. There was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes.

Sherlock stood up. He would not allow himself to show fear in front of something he had created.

Moriarty's grin grew wider.

"Don't you have anything to say to me? It has been a while".

"So it was you all along" Sherlock stated.

"Of course. You didn't think any memory could do it, did you?" Moriarty asked, feigning hurt. Sherlock didn't reply.

"Come on" he whined. "I haven't had a conversation in forever – your memories can only replace the real thing for so long – "

"You have no business in my memories" Sherlock said simply. "You have no business in my mind palace".

"And what are you going to do about it?"

The question surprised him. Moriarty was watching him, waiting for his response. What could he mean? This was Sherlock's mind; he was only a memory. A shadow. It was Sherlock's mind palace. He simply had to delete him.

It startled him that he hadn't thought about it sooner. He had to delete him. All he had to do was get rid of the consulting criminal. He should have never allowed a likeness of him into his mind palace in the first place. He couldn't remember why he had.

He looked at Moriarty and decided that he had been arguing with an echo of his arch enemy long enough. He deleted him.

Nothing happened. Moriarty was still there. He blinked. The consulting criminal didn't vanish.

It was impossible. He should be able to destroy him.

Moriarty chuckled.

"I wasn't sure of course, but I took a gamble. It's half the fun, really". He waited, but Sherlock said nothing, still trying to make him disappear.

"Don't be a spoilsport. Start playing. You know why it didn't work. Don't you want to explain in a dramatic display of your intelligence?"

Sherlock understood. He had been a fool not to.

This was Moriarty's echo, one he had created to be locked away. But it was connected to many memories in his mind palace. It might draw his strength from there; its existence might have become independent to Sherlock's will; it might have learned to manipulate his thoughts.

There were too many conjectures, but anything was possible with the human mind. He had learned that long ago.

If Moriarty was indeed free to roam his mind palace –

Sherlock paled. He didn't know how long this had been going on. Perhaps it had only started a short time before the nightmares began, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe Moriarty had been wreaking havoc ever since he had locked him away, thinking that he could not get out, that he had beaten the consulting criminal once and for all.

Maybe he had been manipulating his thoughts since they had first met, since Sherlock had been able to create a mental image of him.

What if – what if he had influenced his work? What if he had put innocents in prison? What if none of what he had seen and experienced had been real?

He was getting ahead of himself; he was theorizing without data. He forced himself to calm down. His mind was on the line. He could not get distracted. He could not wonder what Moriarty had done until he investigated.

First of all, he had to get away. The time when he had enjoyed their game was long past. The game was not as important as his friends or his sanity; he had learned this after two years of fighting alone, dismantling Moriarty's web, doing things he had never thought he would do. The line between what he had hated and what he was had become blurred, and since then, the thought of playing a game with a criminal mastermind to distract himself had provoked nausea rather than excitement. He still enjoyed his work, solving cases, showing the police that he could do better than they, but he didn't enjoy games when too much was on stake.

"You are getting a bit slow" Moriarty commented, tilting his head to the side. "It won't be easy, deleting me. I'd say it was impossible, but – we've done impossible things before, have we not?" He smiled. "Like returning from the dead".

"You didn't" Sherlock all but snapped, wondering if he could simply force himself to wake up. Awake, he could figure out his next steps in the real world. He could alert his friends. There was no point in hiding what was going on anymore. It would endanger them. He would call his brother as soon as he woke up. It was better for him to be locked away like Moriarty had been, as he should have been, than risking his friends' and his city's safety. Moriarty running around freely, even if it was only in his mind, was too dangerous to play games with, too dangerous to consider for one second.

It would be argued that this was all a dream as, in fact, it was. And yet it was real. He couldn't doubt it. The moment he had seen Moriarty, everything had fallen into place.

If there was one thing he was afraid, he had admitted to himself on a dark night in Europe, hunting down a man like an animal through dirty streets, it was turning into the consulting criminal. His subconscious had felt that something was amiss, that Moriarty was trying to control his mind, and had tried to warn him. This had resulted in the nightmares and the constant feeling of dread. He felt better now than he had in weeks. Moriarty had been fighting him without Sherlock being aware of it, draining him, making him fear his own mind. The knowledge of what was going on helped. He would be locked up, possibly in a mental institution, until he could get the situation under control. If he never did – it was a little price to pay. London had suffered enough through Moriarty. He would ensure it wouldn't endure more.

"No, but I came close" Moriarty said cheerfully. "And as long as I am here – as long as you see me and talk to me – I am alive. You can't get rid of me, Sherlock. We are going to have so much fun..."

He would get rid of him. If nothing helped – if he couldn't win – he would destroy himself to kill Moriarty. And even if he was incapacitated, if he was unable to do it on his own, Mycroft would help. Sherlock had no illusions about his brother. He would kill him to save the country.

For now, he had to wake up. He had been trying to think about it since Moriarty had stepped into the light, but it didn't work. He would have to run and wait. Find a safe place. He had always kept a few memories that were important to him in an especially reinforced room. Mycroft would no doubt have found it sentimental, but there were several moments in his life he wanted to always recreate exactly. Mycroft telling him about pirates. The moment he could see Greg believing his deductions. Meeting John.

He had buried them so deep, had woven an almost impenetrable labyrinth around them so carefully while he had been away from London that Moriarty couldn't have found them yet. If he could get there, he could wait until he finally woke up and could act.

Without answering Moriarty's last remark, he ran. It was still his mind, he still had to have some control over it. He willed himself to find another door, one that would lead him near the wing he had dedicated to chemistry. From there, he could easily reach the memory room he was aiming for without giving away where he was going.

Just as he stumbled through the door that had suddenly appeared in front of him, he felt a strange lifting sensation and woke up, staring wide-eyed into his room.

He had escaped for the moment.