At least John has one of the facts right. Sherlock doesn't try to defend himself against John's very much incorrect notion of why he'd returned to London after finishing his business. He doesn't tell John that he'd come back so he could once again be with his only friend. The one person in the entire world that seemed, at least at the time, to be the patient and understanding one. The one constant in his life that had stuck with him even through his lack of understanding in terms of social niceties and even through his episodes of destructive boredom. The one man he had deemed more important than his work.

Over. Is that what it was? Everything they'd been through all amounting to nothing. It's enough to make him laugh. Just a cold bitter note, not a real laugh. He always knew sentiment was found on the losing side and he should have taken heed to the warning he'd given Irene Adler.

"Alright," he says evenly. He looks down and away from John, taking in a deep breath. "If... if that's how you feel, then I'll just... leave." Tonight while John's sleeping off his drink, because if John truly wants him to go out of his life, he doesn't want to waste another minute.