Sherlock… you machine!
Those words ring through his head, every day, every hour and every second of his life.
He doesn't know much, although he is pretty sure he once has. Right now all he knows is that he is needed to destroy someone. Or something. He can't really tell the difference.
He doesn't know why he's doing this; it has something to do with that voice that haunts him while he sleeps:
When he sleeps things happen to him; things, which shouldn't happen to a machine. He can't quite explain them, but the memories remaining from his rests are usually pushed away anyway.
He holds the gun coldly against the last object - or is it maybe a person? - And pulls the trigger.
Sherlock… you machine!
The voice repeats. If it weren't all the time that he'd hear it echoing in his mind, maybe he would feel such a thing as pain. But machines don't sense pain. They extract it. Which is also why he knows so little…
But wait, the last thing was eliminated. Now what? He has no more cause; nothing more worth…
No, one couldn't call this living. But it's hard to figure out what this is.
Nothing is left for him. So maybe he should just decommission himself. Pull his plug, self-destruct, something, anything to end it all.
The gun is now pointing at the being, the machine, the thing that is the remainders of what was once someone who named himself the consulting detective, more commonly known as Sherlock. He probably would've extracted that useless information as well, but the voice that follows him everywhere keeps reminding him by whispering it at every point in his memory that he still has.
He stares at the gun barrel. His lip quivers lightly. Was that an actual quiver?
Just when he wants to add that last bit of pressure to the trigger so that this is all over, the voice in his head starts screaming:
Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine! Sherlock… you machine!
There it is. That pain mentioned earlier; very real and very… painful.
This feeling can't be explained in any other way. His eyes close tightly and his hand starts shaking very hard.
He pulls the trigger and then darkness.
A/N: So I had this idea and when i get ideas I have to start working on them. I'm planning to make these very short chapters of 1000 words at most. Hope you enjoy them! And sorry for that cliffhanger ;D
