Ted listens quietly, and his heart aches for Sherlock. It also brings such a depth to their relationship that Ted hadn't fully appreciated yet. Not only spoken so honestly, but also so poetically. As much as Ted loves Joan, and it's an awful lot, he thinks Sherlock might love her more. And it hurts to see him in pain like this.
It's hard to know what to say. There's nothing you can really say to truly make it better. Any platitude seems insufficient. And saying something mundane or inappropriate would almost be a disservice to what Sherlock just shared. It's hard being the one left behind, and he knows they both know this. But he doesn't have any truths to speak about it that would help.
He sits there in silence for several long moments, heart hurting for Sherlock, and for Joan, and his own part in this.
"You know," he says quietly, finally speaking up. "When Joan went back to New York, she was blaming herself for what happened to me. Thinking it was because of her." He assumes Sherlock has at the very least an inkling of this, though he doesn't know if the two of them discussed it.
"And now that it's reversed, it's... hard to not think the same way," he admits quietly. He swallows a bit, looking down at his hands. "I know all of this isn't my fault, but.. I don't know. I know I'm kind of an intruder on the life the two of you have together. And I know if it weren't for me, Joan wouldn't be here right now."
He pauses, then shakes his head a little. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm getting at," he says, voice tight. He just wanted to repay Sherlock by opening up a bit himself. Maybe even validate whatever bitterness Sherlock might feel towards him. But now it feels like he's making it about him instead.
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It's hard to know what to say. There's nothing you can really say to truly make it better. Any platitude seems insufficient. And saying something mundane or inappropriate would almost be a disservice to what Sherlock just shared. It's hard being the one left behind, and he knows they both know this. But he doesn't have any truths to speak about it that would help.
He sits there in silence for several long moments, heart hurting for Sherlock, and for Joan, and his own part in this.
"You know," he says quietly, finally speaking up. "When Joan went back to New York, she was blaming herself for what happened to me. Thinking it was because of her." He assumes Sherlock has at the very least an inkling of this, though he doesn't know if the two of them discussed it.
"And now that it's reversed, it's... hard to not think the same way," he admits quietly. He swallows a bit, looking down at his hands. "I know all of this isn't my fault, but.. I don't know. I know I'm kind of an intruder on the life the two of you have together. And I know if it weren't for me, Joan wouldn't be here right now."
He pauses, then shakes his head a little. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm getting at," he says, voice tight. He just wanted to repay Sherlock by opening up a bit himself. Maybe even validate whatever bitterness Sherlock might feel towards him. But now it feels like he's making it about him instead.