Lose My Soul by TobyMac 6:16
Sherlock isn't sure why he does it. He just does it because he can't not do it. When he tried not to do it, he was rubbish. He did drugs. He smoked all day long. And he liked it. But it just made him dull, lifeless, like a chemical lobotomy. This is different. He likes this, and it makes him sharper. Each case, like a whetstone, makes his mind into a finer and finer tool. He has heard people talk about purpose and destiny before, and he has no idea what they meant. He has never felt called to anything. This is about cravings, like hunger or thirst or addiction. He must do it, or he will not be able to live. He knows nothing whatsoever about passion. He only knows of necessity. Of having to do something. Stopping would be like ceasing to exist. It would be a return to that time before he was human, wasting away with a needle in his arm. It would be madness, and he will not return there again.