Walking Toward the End

I told them my story. Few questions were asked, and I broke out in tears during the middle of it, just from the stress, but they let me take my time. Once I was finished, the silence hung in the air. Even though it was an uncomfortable silence, it was such a relief to get it out.
"Well this is touching," a voice chimes. "But I'm still here."
My eyes snap to the bookshelf, where Moriarty is sitting, twisting something orange. Sam follows my gaze, and looks back at me with a frown.

John whispers something to Mrs. Hudson, and I curl up on the chair, falling asleep faster than I'd have thought possible. Voices start to argue, and just before I'm completely unconscious, someone says,
"Let her sleep. She's had a rough six months."

***

All I can see is light.
It's a warm light, and comforting, like those winter nights where you wrap yourself up in a blanket with a cup of tea, and maybe your favorite book. It is also the kind of light that would make you shut your eyes, but I have to keep my eyes on it. Right now, this light is all that matters. It surrounds me, tickling my skin where it touches. I let out a breathy chuckle as I examine the way it clings to my body, the way mist seems to cling to dark colors. I have never felt this happy before. It feels like... peace.

The light parts in front of me, making a path for me on a stone road. My footsteps begin to echo, but drift off in the distance, like they want to echo, but there's nothing for the sound to bounce off of. A shape comes into my view, and within seconds I recognize the thin frame and curly hair. I open my mouth.
Sherlock.
I can hear myself speaking, but my voice doesn't work. Nevertheless, the figure turns, and Sherlock becomes even more visible. He wears completely clean, white clothes, not unlike the clothes I was forced to wear in the mental hospital. He's lost weight, the clothes baggy on him.
Eveline. Sherlock calls my name. I hear it in my head, not through the air, like my voice. I-I don't know what's happening.
Sherlock sounds worried- panicked, even.
Calm down, I reach out to touch his shoulder, but my hand goes directly through him. We'll- we'll figure this out.

The light dims, and I can feel the peace be replaced with dread. The image of Sherlock takes up half of my view, while the other half is of Cas. He's standing over me, frowning. Sherlock dims even more, and starts to disappear.
"No," I croak, my voice working again. "No. I see him!"
A strangled cry escapes my throat. "I see him!"
"It's okay, calm down," I faintly hear Sam's voice, as he takes my hand.
I start sitting up, still trying to get to Sherlock. Sam and Dean hold me down.
"He's there!" I screech, fighting the two. "Let me go! Let me go!"
Sherlock grows fainter and farther away. As he's disappearing completely, he starts running toward me, like he's trying to reach something far beyond his reach. The last I see is his hand outstretched.

I stop fighting the brothers and begin to sob. They let go of me, and I get up, faintly noticing the fact that I'm now in my bed, and go into the bathroom.

As I lean in front of the mirror, I notice all the things that have changed about me since I'd taken those pills. I'd lost weight unhealthily- I'm far too thin. My cheeks look like they'd deflated; my cheekbones now hollow, when my face was normally round. The natural blush has gone, leaving me frail and dangerously pale. My hair is left dry and tangled. The mental hospital hasn't only stolen my sanity; it's stolen anything that I could be defined by my appearance.