"Ever since I was a kid I've wanted to live for something."
"You still are a kid." Sherlock muttered.
"That's arguable. Anyway, I wanted to live for something. I think I realized a while ago that that wasn't going to happen. Do you know why I read? It's because I can't bear the real world. You know? You solve crimes. I read. I want to live in the worlds I read about; it would be too dangerous, you say, I would be scared. Do you know what I'm really scared of?" She asked, turning her head towards the sun and squinting, making crop circles in the grass with the end of her left shoe. "I'm scared of being ordinary. I'm scared of living a normal life and dying a normal death and being forgotten. I mean, my life was never going to be ordinary, with this ridiculous ASC thing, but it was never going to be extraordinary. But I think maybe I can die for something."
There was a pause. It began to rain, a drizzle at first, oddly warm against his skin, the way it feels to shower when you don't want to.
"I've been here more than you think. I can tune in and out. I can hear Smith. Your friend, John. He's not dead, but he will be in a minute if you don't let me down this hole."
Sherlock tried to look her in the eye, but he found it more difficult than he should have.
"You love John; I can see it in the way you think of him. You're not used to love, even if it is platonic. You're not familiar with weighing one life against another. But I'm doing it for you. I didn't get a life. Not really. I at least deserve a death I choose. I'm going to die for something, Sherlock, and you're going to let me."
"I already know what you're gonna do, Johnny. Bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you agree."
"I'm a doctor. I save people. It's got nothing to do with bravery."
"Oh, please don't tell me I'm in for one of these Meaning of Life talks. Don't talk to me about how the only thing separates us from animals is our ability to explore, because that's what I'm doing. I'm exploring your friend's head. I'm exploring the boundaries of pressure I can put on your next before one of your arteries goes bye-bye. Would you like for my experiment to go wrong?"
And then, as if by coincidence, Sherlock bolted up off of the table, coughing wildly and grasping for breath. And then, as if by coincidence, John felt the knife pierce the skin on his neck, and saw only red.
