Panic, blind, undoubted panic. How could one calm the rushing mind of a sociopath, one that ran on and on, ripping up his stability all the while. Anxiety rippled through him, tidal waves of fear and distress, his breath catching in his throat. The words of a stranger, of someone he knew no more than the next person, they began to work a magic spell of sorts. It was different when someone whom you hardly know begins to give you an objective point of view on the situation. Taking a deep breath as anxiety fueled tears streaked silently down his pale, doll-like cheeks. The bands holding back to flood gates were beginning to snap, the normally calm demeanor of Sherlock Holmes weren’t staying like they were suppose to. His entire form trembled, if anyone who knew the detective saw him they’d know immediately that he was off of his nicotine patches…
Diana leans down beside him on one knee and then takes his hand and puts it near her heart like her mother always did with her when this happened “Concentrate on how many times my hearts is beating under your hand in a minute and then start counting along with them but I want to hear you count hmm. Do you think that you can do that for me?” She takes her other arm and runs a hand down his back rhythmically, rubbing her hand in circles, trying to get him to relax and breath easier “Sir, sir...start counting my heartbeats now if you can.”
@socicpathic








