“I need to know what to do.”
Ella is not paid nearly enough for the stubborn idiots she has to deal with. “Sherlock,” she says patiently, “you’ve spent the last hour and a half telling me a somewhat ridiculous story that revolves around smashing busts of Margaret Thatcher.”
“So you’ve just taken that from one of your old cases! John wrote that up on his blog years ago.”
Now Sherlock looks confused. “You read John’s blog?”
Yes, Ella definitely deserves a raise. “Well, given that I’m the one who encouraged him to start it in the first place, yes.”
Sherlock considers this, and for a moment Ella thinks she has broken through to him. But his face quickly slides back to a mask of barely disguised pain, eyes distant.
“Look, Sherlock,” Ella says, “I can’t help you unless you tell me what actually happened--"
“I didn’t lie, exactly,” Sherlock says quietly. “It-it helps me, sometimes, to look at events through the lens of an old case. To understand them better.”
“That may be, but if you want me to help you understand John, I need to understand exactly why you two grew so far apart. The whole truth.”
Sherlock still looks unconvinced. Ella takes a chance: “This isn’t just about Mary’s death. You know that. It’s about how you feel towards John. And you regret how you acted on those feelings.”
For a moment, Sherlock is a child: raw, aching, and in love.
“I can help,” Ella says. “But first: No more lying.”
Sherlock inhales sharply, narrowing his eyes at her. He comes to a decision.
“Very well. From the beginning, then.”
Roll opening credits: The Lying Detective.