The Endgame (BBC Sherlock) -3-

19. The Crushing Weight

I should have guessed that the problems wouldn't revolve around Sherlock once I got out of the hospital.

Bayley and I, while still engaged, were suffering. There was no warmth like there was in the hospital. I now believed that it was because I was vulnerable and hurting, and that Bayley wanted to try and ease my nerves.

We didn't share a bed when we got to Dad and Mary's. We acknowledged each other's existence in the house, and when it came to wedding planning. But that was about it. Outside of that, it felt like me versus Bayley. Dad took Bayley's side, and Mary, shockingly, took mine. I thought she was doing so out of pity.

"Maybe we should call it off," I told Mary in the kitchen. Dad and Bayley weren't up yet. "It doesn't feel like things are getting better."

"Well, you haven't confronted each other since you got released from the hospital. You can't expect things to heal in silence. If you truly love each other, you'll man—and woman—up and sit and talk it through."

"I'm gonna feel so guilty if Dad has to waste his money on a wedding that won't happen."

"I've got faith in the both of you. It's not misplaced. Find a neutral location and talk it out."

I knew she was talking to me, but I didn't acknowledge her. I froze when I saw him beside her. Not again. Not now. Not again. My hands began to tremble against the table they sat on. His suit was dark and blood-spattered, and he had some dribbling down from his mouth.

I wanted to run out the room and vomit.

He waggled his fingers, smirking devilishly at me. Beside him, Mary looked at me funny.

"You alright, Rachel?" This time I heard her.

I swallowed, but the lump wasn't going down properly. "F-fine."

"It's okay to admit that you're not. With what you've gone through in the past few years, nobody blames you."

"I'm fine, Mary." My tone was clipped.

"Mm, if you were fine, then I wouldn't be here, kitten," the hallucination crooned.

I tugged on my hair. I want him to go away, but I can't shout that while Mary's in the room. She already knows I'm off. This will be the thing that ships me to an asylum, unlike the last time this happened.

"Either you miss me that much, to which I would be so flattered, or that unbearable guilt has a hold on your heart and won't let go. I'm betting on the latter."

"Are you sure?" Mary pressed cautiously, completely unaware of my episode.

"Yes," I said weakly.

"That was too quick of an answer," Moriarty sang. "Even she doesn't believe you."

"I need to leave." I jumped out of the kitchen, with Mary calling my name.

I bolted out of the door, but the air didn't help. I still saw him, everywhere I looked. He was there, in all of his bloody, criminally insane glory. I have no sanity left. It's official. I started hightailing it down the sidewalk, unsure of where I was going to go.

"No matter where you run, no matter how fast or how far, I'll still catch you, darling."

"Go away." I stopped abruptly, and I glared at the image at my side, who was smirking. I knew if I swung, I'd punch air. "I killed you, you died."