Howard comes over and sits by Sherlock's side obediently, almost trustfully. He doesn't like Sherlock and he doesn't delude himself into thinking Sherlock likes him, but John's specter clearly hangs over them both. If Sherlock were going to kill him, he either would have already or would have to make a drastic personality change.

The wound still oozes whenever the makeshift bandage is removed. It reminds Howard of undercooked steak, or of the doki-dokis in front of them, starting to leak juices in the heat. The little drops make sizzling noises in the fire.

"I really...I really didn't mean it. What I said in the Capitol."