【Howard】Stockholm Experiment

26

Stockholm experiment log:

5 month 23 day.

Prepare before experiment.

Note: He knows nothing about everything, including me.

5 month 24 day.

The experiment begins.

1. Injected 4mg/kg 5% thiopental sodium solution.He was defenseless and unconscious for less time than I thought.

Observation: Appears shocked, and perhaps false alarmed.

2. Feed a sleeping pill.

Note: I need to let him know that this is not a joke.

5 month 25 day.

1. Gradually cut him off from those around him.

Observation: Defiance appears.

2. Appropriate threats to life.

Observation: The sociopathic personality profile helped me, and he believed it.

Remarks: The clothes on the balcony have been touched and need to be disposed of.

5 month 26 day.

1. Fasting.

Observation: Ask for food.

2. Let him understand the "last resort".

Observation: Emotions begin to waver.

Remarks: The possibility of preparing to flee cannot be ruled out.

……

6 month 5 day.

There are side effects of long-term use of sleeping pills, and I will switch to ordinary tranquilizers from today.

……

6 month 11 day.

Stop using the drug.

Remarks: Does the experiment take effect?

……

6 month 18 day.

Experiment takes effect.

……

6 month 23 day.

An escape that was both unexpected and expected.

The real experiment can only be restarted.

Remarks: Can no longer be reserved, success or failure depends on it.

6 month 24 day.

1. Resume taking the drug and replace it with starch tablet.

Observation: Losing thoughts of running away and beginning to believe in the mind-controlling effects of the pill.

6 month 25 day.

1. Pretend to be drunk and take the opportunity to reiterate "what not to do."

Observation: Convinced.

6 month 26 day.

1.

——I love you,

——Ivalueyou,

——than anything,

——than the world,

——thanmylife.

Observation: Choose to leave together.

The experiment was successful.

The last four words "experiment was successful" were written very illegibly, and the handwriting was very new. It seemed that it was added later.

The notebook was slammed shut.

John stood silent, digesting every word of what was written on it, his body not shaking with anger, not shouting, not having anything.After a long time, he turned his head to look at the door.

Fortunately, no one was there.

He put the notebook back in his drawer, quietly went back to his room, and found a short knife.

It was his souvenir from the army.

He hid it in his hand, tucking that hand into his cuff.

Step by step, he walked downstairs, towards Sherlock.

"John, why did you take so long to clean up?" Sherlock looked up and smiled at him.

John smiled at him too.

"John, are you uncomfortable? Why is your face so ugly." Sherlock's observation skills were always keen.

"It's nothing, just a little sad about leaving here." John adjusted his facial expression to make him look more natural, and quietly clenched the handle of the knife with his right hand.

There were only a few flights of stairs and a few steps between them, and Sherlock muttered, "Do you want to take Mr. Skeleton?" He walked behind the sofa.

John approached slowly behind him, trying to keep his steps as natural and steady as possible.

With his back to him, John's Army training allowed him to deliver the stab so well and hard that it took Sherlock to kill him instantly.

Kill him, kill this bastard who lied to himself and played with himself.

He cried out in his heart.

step.

two steps.

The tip of the knife protruded from the cuff.

"John," Sherlock said suddenly, "when are you going to see Mary?"

He turned around with a snap, and John was taken aback. "See Mary?"

In desperation, he retracted the dagger into his sleeve and cut his hand.

"You said you still have a responsibility to her, and you're leaving without saying goodbye?" Sherlock said, "Oh, don't you look at me with that petrified look, it looks really Stupid - I mean, I don't care what you do anymore, and it doesn't matter, uh, as long as you're with me, no, I won't force you, you can go whenever you want , but I hope... I mean, mygod... you understand?"

It was rare for Sherlock to be so incoherent, and he scratched his hair irritably: "Anyway, you go."

Before John could move his body, Sherlock said again, "John, I have done a lot of wrong things, and I regret it now. If you don't come back, I will spend a lifetime of loneliness to pay for it-I don't doubt that you won't come back, I'm not threatening you, I'm just worried... Oh! fuck!"

He fell down on the sofa, biting his lip and sulking with himself.

"Sherlock," John said, "you really don't look like Sherlock now."

"Because of you, I'd better be a goldfish." He turned his back and stopped talking.

The room was silent for a long time, and Sherlock didn't hear John's voice again, so he sat up and said, "Why are you still here?"

John smiled, reached into his pocket with his left hand and took out a small box: "I just wanted to tell you that I found a nice tie clip."

"Tie pins?" Sherlock whispered, "I don't usually wear them…"

John walked over and opened his hands in front of him, a delicate silver metallic shiny tie clip resting in his palm, embellished with a small gray blue gemstone.

"If I remember correctly. It was a thank-you gift from a jeweler, and I thought it was pretty," he said.

Sherlock glanced at the tie clip in his hand, then at John's eyes, the corners of his mouth curled up, his eyes narrowed slightly: "It matches your eyes very well."

He took it, bowed his head and clipped it to John's shirt.

John's right hand holding the knife was already sweating a lot, mixed with a small amount of blood, and he squeezed his palm tightly to keep it from dripping down.

"But I think blue diamonds are a better color," he let go. "I'll buy you one when we get settled. Now I'm going to get my suitcase."

"First, I'm not a woman, I have no interest in jewelry; second, Sherlock, do you know how expensive blue diamonds are? Don't be so childish," John said.

"There's Mycroft," Sherlock said calmly.

John was speechless, in awe of his unapologetic behavior.

"Okay, stop making trouble, we really should go."

John went upstairs to his room, let go of the dagger, palms wet.

"John," Sherlock said from downstairs, "I have a medical kit in my room, but I'd be happy to help you bandage it."

Ok.

John stared at the blood on his palm, probably this frustration would follow him for the rest of his life.

The next morning, Mycroft stood at the airport and held out his hand to John: "I'm sorry, it was my negligence before, and I promise I won't hurt you again from now on. Especially—" He squinted at Sherlock.

John shook hands with him: "Thank you."

Sherlock coughed, glared at Mycroft, and pulled John closer to him.

"Don't worry, we'll be back."

"You'd better change your name and surname to avoid the limelight, Sherlock, and stop making waves, you know?"

Sherlock snorted.

Moments later, a plane took off at London Airport.

Mycroft watched the plane go away, took out his cell phone and dialed a number.

"Lestrade," he said to the person on the other end of the line, "actually, Sherlock and I agree occasionally."