two minute monologue on sherlock holmesplz its for 5 marks plz i will put you as brainliest plz answer my question
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Words, Words, Words
Sherlock, Doctor Who, Merlin, Torchwood. Philosophical thinking and solo tweets from my twitter account that include dreadfully heart-wrenching story lines.
Thursday, 23 May 2013
Sherlock's Monologue.
A final act of hope. Happiness. That’s all the fall was.
That sensation. When you fall, the one that feels like a lifetime before death. That feels like you’ve died a thousand times and will live a thousand times more. You feel immortal. Falling, as if you’ll never hit the floor.
But of course you’ll hit the floor. Everything has to end. I learnt that. Falling is just like flying one man once told me. But falling has a more permanent destination. Permanent for those who are ordinary. Though some called me an angel. An angel that has fallen.
Lucifer. That’s what the tabloids called me. Falling as a fallen angel, from helping those to killing. I’ve never killed.
But then, a pill was all it could have taken. That was more permanent than falling. Falling was like a flash of light. Then darkness.
I could hear John’s cries. I could hear Molly’s scream from inside St Barts. Screams and cries. No gun shots though. The final act of hope is all I could give them. I could solve cases. I was a genius. Maybe, a little of me hoped that John would know what I had done.
The pill. That slowed my heartbeat right down. The one that made me look dead. Those funny sleeping pills he had gave me. It was simple enough to take them. It was easy. The blood. Everything. Childs play.
But I couldn’t save them. The others that died that day. The ones that the newspapers never reported. The death of those children who Moriarty had as ‘back up’. The Bruhl children’s friends. The friends that no one would miss. Why? They were never there. The parents dead. The children dead. They all fell down.
Like the nursery rhyme. Like the fairy tales. They all fell down. And I could do nothing. Nothing was useless. There should have, could have been something.
But there wasn’t. I was dead. Dead to the world at least. I was ‘Lucifer’. I was ‘fake’. But I am none of those things.
Thursday, 23 May 2013
Sherlock's Monologue.
A final act of hope. Happiness. That’s all the fall was.
That sensation. When you fall, the one that feels like a lifetime before death. That feels like you’ve died a thousand times and will live a thousand times more. You feel immortal. Falling, as if you’ll never hit the floor.
But of course you’ll hit the floor. Everything has to end. I learnt that. Falling is just like flying one man once told me. But falling has a more permanent destination. Permanent for those who are ordinary. Though some called me an angel. An angel that has fallen.
Lucifer. That’s what the tabloids called me. Falling as a fallen angel, from helping those to killing. I’ve never killed.
But then, a pill was all it could have taken. That was more permanent than falling. Falling was like a flash of light. Then darkness.
I could hear John’s cries. I could hear Molly’s scream from inside St Barts. Screams and cries. No gun shots though. The final act of hope is all I could give them. I could solve cases. I was a genius. Maybe, a little of me hoped that John would know what I had done.
The pill. That slowed my heartbeat right down. The one that made me look dead. Those funny sleeping pills he had gave me. It was simple enough to take them. It was easy. The blood. Everything. Childs play.
But I couldn’t save them. The others that died that day. The ones that the newspapers never reported. The death of those children who Moriarty had as ‘back up’. The Bruhl children’s friends. The friends that no one would miss. Why? They were never there. The parents dead. The children dead. They all fell down.
Like the nursery rhyme. Like the fairy tales. They all fell down. And I could do nothing. Nothing was useless. There should have, could have been something.
But there wasn’t. I was dead. Dead to the world at least. I was ‘Lucifer’. I was ‘fake’. But I am none of those things.
I am Sherlock Holmes. And John Watson;
I am not dead.
I am Sherlock Holmes. And John Watson;