“My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built. Life is commonplace; the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world. Can you ask me, then, whether I am ready to look into any new problem, however trivial it may prove?”
Sherlock : Are you OK?
John : [laughs] What, am I…? No, no, I’m not OK. I’m never going to be OK. And we’ll just have to accept that. It is what it is, and what it is is… shit.
Mary : John, do better.
John : You didn’t kill Mary. Mary died saving your life. It was her choice, no-one made her do it. No-one could ever make her do anything. The point is, you did not kill her.
Sherlock : In saving my life, she conferred a value on it. It is a currency I do not know how to spend.
John : It is what it is. I’m tomorrow, six till ten. I’ll see you then.
Sherlock : Looking forward to it.
John : Yeah.