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They didn't see it. Maybe it was because they were so happy to have him back, or maybe they were just too close to him these days, but she kept her distance. They'd never been anything like friends, after all. It meant she kept her sense of perspective.
For the first time in her life, Sally understood what Holmes meant when he complained that people failed to observe what was right in front of them.
Some days she felt like the only person with eyes in their head. The freak had always been pale, but now he was translucent. Where there had once been frantic delight in solving a case there was now a thin veneer of interest, weak and dim. His hands shook constantly, and he never quite managed to stifle the way he'd flinch at sudden movement or loud noises.
Worse though, was the way he looked at John, friendship not quite managing to hide the helpless hurt in that aristocratic face.
Once, she'd have been glad to see that – to watch him suffer, just a little bit. Now it made her sick to see a strong man made so fragile.
'You need to stay away from Sherlock Holmes.' Her quiet voice carried the short distance to John, and when he turned to look at her she remembered the last time she'd said that, in the cold twilight out in Brixton. He hadn't listened to her then and he probably wouldn't now, but she had to do something.
The doctor's hands clenched into a brief fist, his new wedding ring gleaming and his voice hard. 'What?'
'You heard me.' She crossed one foot in front of the other, balancing on her sensible heels as she folded her arms.
'What, because he's a heartless sociopath?' he challenged, looking ready for a fight. She'd never thought he'd raise a hand against a woman before. Logically, she knew he probably still wouldn't, but in defence of Sherlock's name, it seemed like a possibility. 'Don't you think he's proven otherwise?'
'Yeah, I do.' She clenched her jaw, glancing over to make sure Holmes wouldn't hear them before stepping closer, her voice low. 'You've got a wife now. A family on the way. What's he got? This.' She jabbed her finger at the ground, indicating the crime scene and the puzzle Holmes had once loved so much. 'Nothing else. Just this, and every time you turn up, you rub that in his face.'
She saw the moment anger became confusion, watched John shift his weight back and cock his head in an effort to understand what she was getting at.
'He's got a heart,' she said at last, spelling it out for him, 'and all anyone has to do is look at him to know the state of it.'
John took a deep breath, and Sally shouldn't have felt so vindicated to see him shaken. 'And?'
She tossed her head, looking back to where Sherlock was hunkered down by the corpse, focused but frail, and spoke the truth she could see plain as day.
'It's broken, and so is he.'