"Shouldn't - shouldn't -" Shell Bell whimpers, scrunching her eyes shut.

"Shouldn't what."

"That is nonsense," Sherlock says flatly. "I love you."

"Last time," sobs Shell Bell, "I wanted you to."

"I don't understand."

"Absolutely not. It is obvious that you intend this abandonment to benefit me. It will not. I refuse to allow you to make that choice on my behalf. Tell me what happened."

"She screamed," Shell Bell whispers, "and I remembered, everything bad I ever did, ever thought, and I felt it, and I still do, and it's terrible, and I'm - so - selfish I still don't know what to do -"

"The harpy hurt you," says Sherlock. "Understand what she did, and then fix it."

"She didn't lie."

"If she made you think that leaving me was some kind of moral duty, then she told one of the worst lies I can imagine, whether or not she did it using the selective application of individual truths."

"She didn't say that. I figured it out."

"It is false."

"I wished you dead, I did, I wished you dead - and hurt and away from Tony - just because I wanted you where I was," sobs Shell Bell. "And when I told you before all I said was please still love me like that made any sense -"

"But I do still love you," she says. "And if I had known where you were I would have wished the same."

Shell Bell sobs, and shivers, and mumbles something unintelligible.

"What is it?"

"I don't know what to do," murmurs Shell Bell, "I always just do whatever makes me feel better but I shouldn't feel better and I want to do something that - but then it's about what I want again - I don't know how to do anything else, I'm so, so self-centered, I can't even be guilty right."

"I want you to feel better," says Sherlock. "Your suffering helps no one but that harpy."

"No," whimpers the smew, and Shell Bell is silent.

"Does it then have some practical benefit which I fail to understand?"

Shell Bell shakes her head, slowly.

"So you are in pain, and I am in pain, and nothing good is coming of either," she says. "This is not optimal."