"I was going to," He snapped, and then stopped, his throat siezing up entirely on it's own. A flash of rage and frustration, completely real, crossed his face, and he immediately turned his eyes from Howard.

It was a new feeling, this utter twist of hopeless rage in his chest.

Sherlock didn't like feelings.

"... Once I got John out. I was going to petition once he was out." He does his best to keep the words coming out ragged but fails, the rage (and the grief, though he cannot admit it, not even to himself) tearing the edges and leaving them bare.