Joan watched as a handcuffed Amy Wong was carted into an ambulance. It had been a week. They found her collapsed on the forest ground. With her great insight, she had forgotten that she needed to eat. Joan felt tears welling up in her eyes. She still wanted Amy Wong to be innocent. She thought of the girl, hundreds of miles away from home, sharing a room with the snobby slob Norma, cold and alone, with a mental disease no one knew of, trying to make it, torn by conflicting interests, dumped by her boyfriend, and driven to murder. And now it was over. Her life was ruined. She was aware of Sherlock walking up behind her.
"Things do not always come together as you wish, Watson. The truth is hard sometimes."
"I just don't see how no one could have noticed if she had this problem." Joan shook her head. "She needed help. But her parents just sent her off to a boarding school, put all this pressure on her and waited for her to crack."
"I am sure it was not intentional." Sherlock said. Joan turned to him.
"It never is. But that doesn't change anything, does it?" She turned away.
"I'm truly sorry Joan." Joan waited for the but clause, the "but she did kill someone," the "but someone has to pay for the Davis boy's death." It didn't come. She glanced at Sherlock. He was looking down at his shoes, hands behind his back.
"She reminds you of yourself." Joan nodded, wiping her tears. Sherlock stood for a moment. There was a pause, as he rocked back and forth on his feet, unsure. Then, slowly, he put his arm around her. Joan cried.
"She's not you, Joan. You have to let it go." After a few minutes, they began walking, back up the hill, towards the school, a stormy monolith scarring the sky.