Maybe if Howard were in a better mood, or if he were a nicer person, or Sherlock were a different person, he would just ignore the company. He would sit there with his comfort food and his fluffy robe and the less-than-comfortable glow of the television and pretend he was alone, some timelines and universes away, watching the SyFy on a Saturday Night.

But Howard's not in a good mood, Sherlock's not a different person, and the Capitol can put Howard's body back together but haven't seen fit to fix the part of his brain that internally screams at him to be a pain in the ass. After a few moments he feels all too keenly that Sherlock's probably taking in every miserable detail, that Sherlock's probably already figured out that Eponine left him and that he's got an anxiety problem and that he's been sleeping in the streets the last few nights to avoid having to spend much time in his suite, and the silence of ignoring Sherlock just becomes too oppressive.

Howard throws a piece of popcorn at Sherlock. And then, a moment later, hops up off the couch to retrieve it off the floor and eat it, murmuring 'five second rule' under his breath.