Guy dangled from a low branch and landed steadily on the ground. Then he picked up his spear from where he'd left it leaning against the tree.

"No, they're not. Well, yes, they can make them whatever they want to make them into for themselves, but generally speaking, they're not."

He tried to think of a way to make it clearer. Sometimes he had trouble with this, with finding the words for what was inside and dragging it outside. Too much time alone. Too much time making up his own words for ideas and beliefs that other people had words for.

He looked to Joan.

"What I'm trying to say is that it doesn't matter if they watch you and it doesn't matter what ways they twist that story about you for themselves as long as however they twist it makes them want to keep you alive. It doesn't change the one you have right here."

He tapped his temple.

"You made one where instead of trying to hurt someone who was scared and - and alone. You tried to make them less afraid. You made a story where you have friends that - " He nodded towards Sherlock "- that want to protect you. That's your story. The real one, anyway."

He shrugged.

"So trick them into believing whatever one you need or want them to believe. That one can be the one you tell, not the one you live."