~Mind Palace~

Lying flat on the floor of a library without books. Shelves empty, the room was barren, white, cold, too cold. Ice. He couldn't move, didn't feel like moving.

He was paralyzed in his own mind palace.

He was not in control.

"Did you really think you can just," Jim laughed. "get away with this type of behaviour, Sherlock?

SHERLOCK!"

Jim was standing above him, eyes wide, hair a tangled mess, his lips curled back to reveal his clenched teeth. He was livid, powerful, the one in control of everything.

Sherlock was suffocating. He was screaming without screaming, his throat was sore, his muscles on fire from the lack of oxygen. He had never not been in control of his own mind palace.

How did Jim get into his mind?

A single tear streamed down Sherlock's temple, his eyes focused on Jim's, unable to look away. How did he love a man so much it clouded his perception of him? How could he not see what Jim was doing to him?

"I love you, Sherlock."

And for a moment, Sherlock really did believe him. He does remember what it felt like to be loved by Jim. It was euphoric, enigmatic, an entirely new feeling never felt before. For once, Sherlock felt like he had found a match for himself, someone who matched his intellectual capacity, someone who challenged him, scared him, even.

Years of loneliness, accepting he might have to be a sociopath to continue living. But Jim challenged him, turned him into a sociopath while simultaneously making him the inferior. Jim perfectly manipulated Sherlock, turning him into a piece of art. That was Jim's work, crafting his perfect partner.

That was Jim. It was Jim.

"I did love you," Jim echoed, snapping Sherlock out of his thoughts. "and you ruined it. You keep. Ruining. Everything."

Jim backed away, pacing. His dark hair and eyes contrasted against the whiteness, displaying a superior demeanor. Never once did he let a detail slip, never once had he allowed anything other than what he wanted to be executed in more ways than one.

"We could have been perfect," Jim sang, fidgeting with his feet. He stared down at his perfectly polished black shoes. "you were perfect."

Jim threw his head back, beginning to laugh manically. A crescendo laugh turned into blood-curdling screams, shrieks that made Sherlock want to crawl away. Jim screamed up into nothingness.

The white room, the booming laughter, the emptiness of the library caused Sherlock to become desensitized. Still paralyzed, still unable to breathe, Sherlock's vision became spotty.

Hands he didn't know were around his neck loosened. Sherlock coughed, suddenly able to move. He grabbed at his throat, his face regaining colour and feeling. He couldn't look up at his ex-lover, couldn't look back into his black, beedie eyes. He focused on the shiny black shoes that kept creeping closer with every step it took.

Sherlock tried to back away, still gasping for air, still holding his throat. The tears in his eyes spilled over, and in that instant, even though he wasn't paralyzed, he felt completely helpless.

"J-James," Sherlock still couldn't make eye contact.

His shoes clicked against the reflective, white floor. Sherlock stopped trying to get away, bowing his head in defeat when Jim could not step any closer.

"You don't understand how hard this is for me to do," Jim's voice was almost apologetic. "God, Sherlock. You really had me. You really, really had me. I fell for you! Do you realize how crazy that sounds coming from me?"

Jim kneeled down, staring at Sherlock directly. Sherlock carefully looked up, and once he did, he wished he hadn't. Jim was smiling.

"I'm in love with you," Jim admitted. "I think I always will be.

I'll say this once more…

You will never feel love ever again."