[The pen continues to write, on and on - and with it, you feel more and more drained, even as the pace becomes frantic and the sense of completion, of something that could change the world comes forth -
Before the shadows suddenly rush for the desk, some grabbing Sherlock with harsh, rough hands, the other grabbing the completed stack - A manuscript - and tearing it to pieces right in front of him, crushing the fragments under heel.
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Before the shadows suddenly rush for the desk, some grabbing Sherlock with harsh, rough hands, the other grabbing the completed stack - A manuscript - and tearing it to pieces right in front of him, crushing the fragments under heel.
...What a horrifying feeling of loss.]