Walking Toward the End

I cringe and claw at my ears, trying to wipe away the sound that continues to torture me.
"Hey Satan, payin' my dues, playin' in a rockin' band. Hey Mumma, look at me I'm on the way to the promised land. I'm on the highway to hell- Highway to hell." Moriarty screams above the screeching my own voice plays in my head. I vaguely notice my nurse coming in and giving me more stuff to make me go to sleep. I breathe heavily as my eyes close again and I'm sent to my torture in sleep.

I'm not sure what I dream about. As soon as one thing happens, only the pain remains - be it emotional or physical.

I wake up in my bed in 221B. Not a hospital. Not a factory. I hope it was just a dream, but John startles me.
"How you feeling?"
I groan. "Awful. What happened?"
"You woke up - or partially, at least - and I was about to ask you how you were holding up, when you started scratching your ears like you were trying to pull them off. Once you were out, I convinced the hospital to let me take care of you."
I put my face in my hands. "I'm going mad."
"No, you're not. You're just sick and exhausted."
I look behind the door at Moriarty, now singing Stairway to Heaven.
"You can't see him, though, can you?"
John looks back, when he turns around, he looks slightly frightened. "I'm sure it's just the medication you took. They gave you loads."
I stand up, ignoring the blackness in the edges of my view. "I'm going to get something to eat."
I walk into the kitchen, almost tripping on the rug.
"No, no, no. You go sit down. I'll make tea and biscuits." John steers me to the sofa.
I try for a grateful smile, but I'm pretty sure it turns out as a grimace.
"You won't be able to do this forever," Moriarty taunts from the window. "Pretending to be alright. I can see you. I can see inside you. You're crumbling."
I bite my cheek until I taste blood. I make myself look away from him.
"Remember what you said last week?" Moriarty is sitting next to me by now. "The sequel is never better than the original. About a movie series, I think. You're wrong, of course. Just look at me!"
"Here we are," John sets the tray down in front of me. "Want to watch telly?"
I nod. "Doctor Who?"
He laughs. "Always."

John thinks I like the show so much for its plot. He's wrong. I love it for its meaning. How you're never just a temp, a shop girl, a medical student. You're the most important person in all of creation and have the capability to change reality. Ever since I was small I felt like nothing, but with the show I would imagine that there is more to everything than meets the eye. I need that right now; an escape from insanity.

The episode ends and I stand up.
"I need air."
John begins to come with, but I put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be fine. Stay here."
He reluctantly agrees and sits back down. "Call me if you need anything, alright?"
"Yeah." I give a closed-lip smile.
"Just kill yourself," Moriarty says. "This'll be a lot faster."

***

I'm questioning everything I had seen in the hospital. Now I'm sure Sherlock is not alive. It was only my mind trying to cope with whatever they gave me that is now making me insane. Before it was a dream when I got kidnapped.
"Very good," Moriarty says. "You are going insane. Sherlock is dead and it's because of you."
My head snaps to him.
"Oh so you can hear me! Well, yes, it was your fault. He hated you. He tried to tell you, but you wouldn't get the message and you only got in the way of him and John."
I shake my head and speed up my pace.
"Don't forget Emma. That, now that was your fault. You didn't watch her. You were careless and sent her to her death. Now, she didn't die in a blast of pretty lights - oh, no. I made sure it was slow and dreadfully painfu-."
"Shut up!" I shout. "Shut UP!"
Ignoring the looks I get, I run back to the flat with the tears warm on my cheeks.
"Evie?" John says as I slam my bedroom door. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I lie. "My door just closed to hard, sorry."
My voice is clear and believable. I'm surprised, because my body is shaking so much I feel I'm going to drill a hole in the floorboards.
"A...alright." John's footsteps leave down the hall.
I press my pillow to my face and let the hot tears roll onto the cold fabric. Responsible for two deaths. I know I should not believe what Moriarty says. He is only the monster of my mind, but when I look back, I can see it. Sherlock's eyes boring into the back of my head. The way John mimics his stance.
I lift my head and look around the room. My eyes land on the bottle of painkillers John left.

***

"Why am I here?"
"Don't you remember? You attempted suicide."
I shake my head, though I do remember. My grief and guilt was too much. Moriarty hissing in my ear was no help at all.
I fiddle with the hem of my white t-shirt, matching my trousers.
"Your flatmate tells me you were seeing somebody in the room. Do you want to tell me about it?"
I look him in the eyes. Electric blue.
"You've read the papers," I say. "You remember Sherlock Holmes, of course. You should remember Jim Moriarty."
"You mean Richard Brook," the doctor corrects.
I shake my head. "No. I don't believe that. I mean Jim Moriarty. He shows up wherever I am and tells me Sherlock's suicide was my fault. He says I don't deserve to live and I should just kill myself."
He scribbles something on his clipboard.
"And you listen to him?"
"My memories have no reason for me not to."
The doctor sighs, taking off his glasses. "You're young and you have everything to live for."
I shake my head. "Two of my best friends are dead. My only other friends are John, my landlady, an officer, and a morgue worker, all of whom have all the reason to believe I've gone off the deep end. Now tell me, what do I have to live for?"
"In my experience, there is, surprisingly, always hope." My doctor smiles at me.
I give him a sad smile.
"I saw your pin." He mentions, meaning my Keep Calm, I'm the Doctor pin on my jacket. "I'm guessing that show has a lot of meaning for you. Now that is something worth living for."