"He is innocent. The two things are not quite the same."

Sherlock draws his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them, and leans quite companionably on Obadiah's shoulder.

(As long as I live, he is a part of me. But things are very different now. This is not an effort at violent self-destruction. He remembers, feels the echo of that pain, and... does not let it upset him.)