There's no landlords and no currency, for that matter. The flats are open to anyone - found the keys just lying on the table. Everything here is free.

[ John wasn't entirely certain of where he stood with Sherlock. The man wasn't talking about the situation they'd left off at (and oh, John knew they were on the same page here - there was no way Sherlock would have had this attitude if they were still in Devon; everything about his mannerisms said guilty, even if Sherlock himself didn't look remorseful) and it was beginning to put John's teeth on edge. John didn't know if Sherlock was here because it was all a ruse or if it was some miracle performed by the Malnosso, but either way, Sherlock had jumped, hadn't he? And John had watched. John had buried him and mourned. He'd cut ties for this, had endured assaults from almost every angle of the media (he had to shut down the blog and change his email), and gone to therapy for this. He had nightmares.

And Sherlock wouldn't say anything about it.

John tapped the syringe with his knuckle and vacated air from the end. ]

If you want to leave the clinic, you'll have to come with me. You'll also have to do as I say, unless you'd like to be sedated for your recovery.

[ Whatever it takes. He wasn't just threatening that. John wasn't playing - he'd be damned if he just stood there while Sherlock tried to kill himself again.

Maybe that was a good enough answer to himself regarding whether or not he still cared after all that had happened. ]