The pain in her eyes was surprisingly painful, and for a moment it nearly broke the rouse - for half a moment the desperate child in him, the one that yearned to be loved, wanted to scream out after her, to tell her that he was sorry and he didn't mean it.

But he hadn't listened to that hardened part of his heart in a long, long time.

"I simply don't like people touching my things," He said, talking about Howard, figuring he should phrase it in the worst way he could manage.

He would hate him for a while, he figured. But it was necessary. There wasn't meant to be two of him in the world. He had always meant to be singular. The world's only consulting detective.

But now there were two and he couldn't pretend that Joan was his anymore.

And couldn't believe that anyone would honestly consider him a friend, in the end.

He turned his back after her comment about John. There was nothing left to say.