The Mind Palace

Chapter Eight

Sherlock kept a firm grip on my hand as we walked down the poorly-painted hallway. I knew he was taking in a scratch on the lineoleum here, a change in the corridor's width there, but he remained silent. I tried not to replay the history that I had just witnessed, but it was hard to avoid. Had those things really happened to Sherlock?

This corridor was much shorter than the previous, and it was impossible to get lost, as there were no side-halls to wander down. It felt safer than any other place we'd visited in the mind palace, or perhaps it was just the precensce of Sherlock's hand in mine that caused the feeling.

The sense of safety soon faded, however, as the end of the hall drew near. All that stood before us was an average wooden door. Sherlock leaned forward and opened it.

I was expecting a large room, or another hallway that would send us wandering for hours (my legs were beginning to ache from all of the excitement), but instead we were met with a simple room.

It was tiny and circular. There wasn't even proper flooring, just packed dirt beneath our feet. The walls were white and padded, and there weren't any windows or doors, except the one we had come through.

The most peculiar thing of all, though, was the man, suited in a straightjacket and chained to the wall, that sat at our feet.

"Moriarty," said Sherlock, in a low, clear voice.

The wretched man shook. His eyes were wide, bloodshot. His hair was all over the place, causing him to look even more insane than I had remembered him to be. The worst bit, though, was the massive grin plastered across his face.

"Sherlock," he said, "how I've missed you."

My colleague gave him a sarcastic smile. "How I wish I could say the same. I thought I'd seen the last of you...?"

The man wriggled around on the ground, as though attempting to be freed of his straightjacket. "Once you've met someone, they're never gone from your memory- not really."

I raised my eyebrows, looking around at the uncomfortable living situation Moriarty had been placed in. "Seems like you left some really bad memories."

Moriarty's eyes, which had been focused completely on Sherlock, finally turned to me. His smile grew, and his eyes narrowed. His gaze was uncomfortable, dangerous, and suddenly I felt as though I was the freshly-cooked meat, and he was the lucky man about to dine. "John Watson." He bounced my name off of his tongue as though it was unfamiliar, a new taste in his mouth (this, I knew, was not true, as we had (unfortunately) met before). "Still traveling with the lunatic?"

"Highly functioning sociopath," Sherlock coughed.

I straightened my back. "Yes, actually. I find his company... Thrilling."

Moriarty's eyes dropped momentarily on our hands, which remained linked. "Obviously. I was wondering when you two would figure it out."

Sherlock's tone was suddenly more confident, authoritative. If anything needed figuring out, he was the man for the job- and always had his heart set on being the first to do so. "Figure what out?"

The psychopath on the ground let out a loud laugh. "You. Isn't it obvious? The two of you, together, solving crimes? And you expected people to believe you were just friends? Sherlock, you're a genius when you need to be, but you really are an idiot when it comes to lying."

"You would be surprised," Sherlock muttered.

I coughed, growing uncomfortable. "So are you just here to talk about our relationship, or do you plan on helping us at all? You've got to be here for some reason."

Moriarty shrugged as best he could, given his restraints. "You came in here yourselves, I didn't send an invite. You two are on your own."

Sherlock sighed, and turned to me. "Looks like we're on our own in finding a different way out of here."

"Dead end?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I hope not. There's no way I'm going back into that house. If only there was another way out..."

Moriarty began to laugh at him. I turned my attention to the lunatic, prepared to shut him up, but realized that he was staring directly towards the ceiling- or, shall I say, the lack of it. The walls continued up about fifteen feet, but instead of a ceiling above us, there was an empty space. An escape.

I squeezed Sherlock's hand. His eyes snapped up from their focus on the floor, catching onto my face. He followed my gaze up to the top of the room, and let out a small sigh of understanding.

"But how will we..." he muttered.

Before Sherlock could finish, a small head appeared at the top of the room, gazing down at us. I recognized it as Irene.

"Hello, boys," she called loftily.

Sherlock waved at her. "Irene! Can you help us up?"

"You owe me a night, Sherlock!"

He held up my hand, which was gripping his rather tightly at the sight of my somewhat-foe. "I think all of my nights are taken!"

She didn't say anything for a moment, but I could imagine her smirking. I had a bit of a fright as her head disappeared for a moment, but all was well again when she tossed a small rope ladder down to us. "Climb on up and join the party!"

Moriarty was still shaking on the ground. "Do you think I could join you?"

Sherlock shook his head, a half-grin across his face. "You're in here for a reason." He let go of my hand and began to climb the ladder. I followed.

The prisoner shouted from a few feet below us. "You have to let me out sometime, Sherlock!"

My partner had reached the top, and climbed onto flat ground. "Don't hold your breath!"

When I reached the top, I found that instead of actually being on the floor, the ridge of the hole was raised, like a well. We seemed to be walking in nothing at all, nothing but white around, under, and above us.

Sherlock didn't reach for my hand again, but still stood close enough to my side that I was comforted. "Any clue where we are?"

I realized that she was naked again. "I was hoping you two might be able to help me on that one, actually."

"Could you please just wear clothes?" I shouted.

She shrugged. "Makes for a much less interesting adventure."

"This is all interesting enough already, thanks," I mumbled.

She waved away my words. "I wouldn't think it would bother you. Now that we all know that you play for the other team." She raised a well-shaped eyebrow.

"Just because I'm- because Sherlock- because-"

She laughed. "You two should really figure things out."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Not much to consider, if you ask me."

Irene took a few steps towards him, until they were a bit too close for my liking. "Oh, now, isn't that a problem?" Her voice was sugary, seductive. "What are you, if there's no mystery to solve? Who are you, behind all those doors you shut and lock behind you? If there isn't an emergency, I dare say you seem... useless."

She took a few steps back again and pulled a gun from what seemed like thin air. "Would you like me to provide one?"