he’s nothing like the man he was before, the cocky oh-i-am-so-smart detective
he’s afraid and uncertain and guilty, oh how guilty… and he looks so broken because he’s not sure he’ll actually be alive again, he may go on but without john… it wouldn’t be living, it’d be just existing and he, sherlock holmes, the man who won with death, is now unsure if he’s going to make it
Okay but let’s get something straight: Mary didn’t just try to kill Sherlock once. Right here, at this very moment, we have a proof she would do it again. I really don’t know if there’s anything else you need to know about her.
Once, there was a boy.
When the boy was six years old, his father gave him a falcon to train. The falcon didn’t like the boy, and the boy didn’t like it, either.
Its sharp beak made him nervous, and its bright eyes always seemed to be watching him […]
He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain it was not just tamed but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what he had done, expecting him to be proud. Instead his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands and broke its neck. “I told you to make it obedient,” his father said, and dropped the falcon’s lifeless body to the ground. “Instead, you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. This bird was not tamed; it was broken.” Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he’d learned: that…