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(Sherlock's POV)

I know none of this is real. I know I'm in my mind palace.

I can always tell when I am. Well, usually.

Sometimes, when I'm exceptionally out of it with some cocktail drug coursing through my veins, I can't tell and the world just spins back and forth.

But I can tell now, at least.

I can't understand why I'm here though.

I'm usually in control. I can usually pick when I choose to recede into my mind palace. It has only happened involuntarily once or twice.

The only reason I know why this isn't real is because it's so dark.

I don't know why.

It's overwhelming, really. Pitch black and complete except for the bright white light coming from the end of the hallway, far, far away. For where, I do not know. But the light is barely a speck in the distance.

That sort of thing doesn't happen in real life. There aren't any massively long pitch black hallways with bright lights at the end.

Why is there a bright light? What does it mean?

My mind palace is usually brightly lit all through, warm rays rebounding off the gleaming polished wood reminiscent of my old home as a child. Some things stick with you like that. But I can always find my way around easily during the countless countless hours I've logged in the winding hallways and libraries and storage rooms full of filing cabinets.

This time it's different. It's not supposed to be like this, ever.

But where am I really? Where is my body?

I strain myself trying to think, trying to remember.

It doesn't work. No matter how hard I think, I can't remember why I'm like this or why it's so dark or why there's a light at the end of the tunnel.

Not much I can do but keep pushing forward.

So I stumble on through the darkness towards the light, hoping to find something, anything. Hoping to understand why. My hands grope against for walls as I try to guide myself, unable to distinguish where they are. As I walk, the light gets closer, until I'm to the point where I can almost see my own hands in front of me.

It's still very nearly pitch black though.

But now, I'm getting worried.

As I move closer to the light, I can feel myself getting weaker, step by step by step as I inch forward. The thick woolen coat wrapped around my thin frame seems to weigh me down. Sweat beads on my forehead and drips into my eyes. I have to blink and blindly rub my trembling hands against my face to keep my eyes clear. My lungs burn with each shuffle of my foot. My brain feels like it's being pierced by a million tiny needles.

Everything hurts, but I can't find a wall to rest against. I can't see, but something keeps urging me forward no matter the cost.

I trip and fall within the next few feet, knees banging against the hard floors as pains shoot through my entire body. It's so bad that I can barely move anymore.

I struggle to get up again, but I just keep collapsing.

It hurts so much, and I don't know why.

I don't understand what's going on.

Too weak to move anymore, I curl up, folding my sharp knees up against my chest and hug my arms close to my body.

I still feel as though I'm on fire. My energy is nearly nonexistent.

I can't go on anymore.

Slowly, I snake my fingers into my curls and tug frantically.

For once in my life, I have no idea what to do.

The frustration boils over, running in tandem with the agony as tears prickle behind my eyes.

I need to remember. I need to remember why I'm here and why this is happening.

I try to think back, try to think of the last time this happened.

The last time my mind palace was dark. The last time I was in this much pain.

I try to think, but my brain is foggy. I can feel myself weaving in and out of consciousness despite the lack of visual cues. I pull my hair more, hoping it will help. Hoping that the self-inflicted pain will be enough to shock me. It isn't.

Everything is black. Everything hurts.

And I can do nothing to stop it.

So I lie here, curled up and tense and pained. Unmoving, barely breathing, air only escaping my mouth in slow, rattling breaths. My heart seems to shudder erratically, beating without rhythm or cause. All I hear are my own choked breaths and the sound of rushing blood.

It finally occurs to me as I'm clawing at my chest, willing my heart to stop thudding.

I'm dying.

That's what this is.

This is my mind as my body lays dying in some gutter somewhere.

I'm dying.

That should scare me, correct?

I should be afraid to die. Anyone should be afraid to die.

In my younger years, I'd held cold blades against my wrists just willing myself to slice deep enough. Willing myself to cut through a vein and fulfill all those desperate shrill shrieks of "Go kill yourself, Freak".

But I'd been afraid of death at such a young age, no matter how much I'd wished to it.

Because death would've ended the name calling and and teasing and slurs. Death would've ended the after-school beatings. Death would've ended the insults from Mycroft.

Death would've brought peace quickly.

But I'd been afraid. Too afraid to try.

Time had only made it easier.

As I grew older, slipping the needle in my arm day in and day out had become easier. Facing a possible death by accidental overdose or poisoned drugs became easier because I had nothing to live for.

But I never had the courage to try for real. To truly take my life into my own hands.

And now?

Am I still afraid?

No.

I want to die.

Because death will finally bring peace. It will bring a respite from all this pain and suffering.

I am done. I am worthless.

There is nothing more in this world for me.

I am abandoned. Nobody has found me yet. Even if I'd made it nearly impossible, Mycroft should have been able to find me. His unlimited resources should have been enough.

But this is proof that I am still alone.

I'm going to die alone.

Alone in some London gutter, where some young copper will find me.

Just another rotted, mangled junkie corpse.

I'm going to die alone.

And I'm finally ready.

With my last ounce of strength, I push myself onto my hands and knees.

My limbs tremble with the effort. Sweat drips from my forehead.

It burns. It still hurts so, so much.

But I have to push myself.

Once I make it to the light, it will all be over.

There will be no more pain. No more suffering. No more thought. No more torture. No more memories.

So, through the darkness I crawl.

I weaver. I almost give up.

But no. I have to keep going.

It will all be over soon.

ahahaha...sorry. I apologize for that. So...yeah. Tell me what you think? Maybe?

Um...well then! Hope you liked it (as much as you possibly could...) and I hope to be back soon because I guess I would be a monster for leaving you hanging!

Also...almost 120 followers?! Damn guyz...you make me blush XD

I might be a bit sleep deprived and crazy...BYE!