I think it's that he... can't, somehow. I don't know. I was told by a friend of ours the day after meeting Sherlock that I somehow knew him better than him, who'd known him for five years. Now I'm just beginning to wonder if I ever knew him at all.

[ He looks pained and he can't quite seem to control it, so he only scrubs his hand over his face and tries to get some composure back. He's not really sure why he's blurting all of this out to Sophie, but he supposes, maybe, someone needs to hear it. ]

Or maybe I've just never seen him in this state before.

[ And he manages a smile. ]

Tea would be great.