"I told him, I cared for him." Sherlock said, while he held the pomegranate seeds in his hand. He could feel them warming under his touch, not enough to burn, but warmer than the air around, warmer than what a normal, mortal body would be.

"I have tried emotions. I have tried saying that I care for him, there is nothing else that I can do!" He yelled at Greg. He was angry at Fates, angry at John, angry at himself, angry at everything right now, a seething cauldron, waiting to bubble over.

But there was fear behind the hate, fear that he would lose John forever and never have another chance.