The Devil's Chord

Chapter Twenty Nine

Sherlock knew she would have vomited if there'd been anything at all in her stomach. 

He'd cranked the rusted wheel two more times.

Miss Walker's harsh sobs had long since subsided, though tears still streamed down her anguished face. 

"Do you want the pain to stop?" 

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and he wasn't the least bit surprised to find a hint of madness in them. They likely matched his own. 

She stared straight through him, her gaze wide and unseeing. Blood dribbled down her chin. She'd bitten clear through her lip during the last episode. 

He grasped her wrist and placed her limp, clammy hand flat against his bare abdomen. "Breathe, then delete the memory of the screeching metal. Destroy it before it consumes you." 

Sherlock took in a deep breath, allowing his stomach to expand as a reminder for her. Her pupils dilated and her hand spasmed. Fingers clawed into his abdominal muscles, her nails cutting into his flesh. 

He let her, welcomed the stinging pain, though by now he was so cold inside even this sensation felt distant and remote.

His lack of reaction appeared to calm her and awareness entered her gaze. 

"How?" she croaked out, her voice hoarse from screaming. 

"Embrace the memory, then eradicate it, using a visualization method as an aid." 

"How do you do it?" 

He felt a drop of blood from where she'd cut him run past his navel. "I envision my unwanted memory as an old strip of film. I either expose it to a bright light or burn it. If that fails to work, I reduce it down to its molecular components and annihilate it bit by bit using hydrochloric acid. Tedious, but effective." 

"How will I know if I've deleted it?" 

"You'll know. It'll feel like a heavy burden beyond measure taken away." 

She licked her lips and closed her eyes, her hand now relaxed against him. She sucked in air and let it out, matching him breath for breath. 

Good. Now that he'd brought her past the breaking point, she was finally trying. There was nothing quite as motivating as excruciating pain. He should have gone that route from the beginning and saved them both the trouble. 

John wouldn't have allowed it though, too much the sentimental doctor to inflict terrible hurt to heal. 

It was fortunate for Miss Walker he had no such compunction. 

Better still that John wasn't here. Sherlock would have had to hurt him too, or he would have surely interfered.

Her closed eyes darted back and forth. A long moment passed.

She frowned. "I think I did it." 

Unlikely. It had taken him a great deal of effort to design his own deletion method, and he'd been in far better health than her. 

"Open your eyes." 

She complied. 

He reached for the wheel, and before his fingers even brushed it, she flinched. 

Sherlock shook his head. "If you had truly deleted the memory, you wouldn't have reacted in fear." 

It would be exactly like the first time he'd touched it. She'd be wary, but unsuspecting of his true goal. 

"Try again." 

She did. Five more times. 

And failed every one.