"'Kay..." Howard decides he's not getting anywhere, and besides, he's trying to prevent the dizziness and nausea from causing this morning's oatmeal to have an encore appearance. He'll find a way to drive a wedge between John and Sherlock later.

He hobbles along as fast as he can, using Sherlock for balance. He's well aware that standing out in the open is a bad idea, but as they get near the gingerbread cliffs he can spy little holes and nooks to hide in. It's hard to make out how far away they are with one eye.

He doesn't like that he has to keep leaning into Sherlock's side to keep from tipping over, doesn't like that every time he misjudges where the ground is it's this goon whose arm he clutches to get right again. Somehow, this bothers him more than the splitting pain, more than the fact that his face is still bloody, more than the vertigo and blind eye. Maybe he's just used to pain, or maybe it's that the physical contact side of things is still a difficult one, even for business purposes.

He makes no complaint as they go, not even noises of pain, and after a long enough pause he finally says "thanks for s...thanks for helping me."