"If I ever knew it, I deleted it," Sherlock said, biting back the grammar edit on his tongue, full in the knowledge that Howard had a head wound, and John would hopefully be watching this. Not to mention the rest of the capitol. Believable and sympathetic, he reminded himself, even as his gut twist at the thought that maybe John wouldn't get back at all.

"Couldn't leave you waiting." He said flatly. "John would never forgive me."

He only slows enough to keep Howard from stumbling too overtly - they don't have time to waste - he can smell Wyatt's burning body, still, from here - and he's convinced he'll smell it for a week. Burning flesh and burning sugar do not a pleasant compound make.