The Consequences of Our Actions: On Apologies and Forgiveness in The Empty Hearse

 (Sherlock Meta by stephisanerd)

“Letting it get to you. You know what that’s called? Being alive.” The Doctor (Doctor Who, Series 6, episode 4: The Doctor’s Wife)

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“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

* * *

Sherlock: There you go, you see – you were right.
John: I was right? Right about what?
Sherlock: The police don’t consult amateurs.
John: That … was amazing.
Sherlock: Do you think so?
John: Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.
Sherlock: That’s not what people normally say.
John: What do people normally say?
Sherlock: ‘Piss off’!

Sherlock, in this early exchange in A Study in Pink, seems well-aware that the likely consequence of his lashing out and telling John all manner of intensely personal things that he has deduced about him is that John is going to tell him to “piss off.” Sherlock defines himself by his cleverness and his ability to make these sorts of deductions, but he knows that it’s something that people don’t appreciate, even when he’s not being intentionally vicious. It’s a scenario that he’s seen play out again and again. He’s ready for it. This is it, he’s shown John who he is. He’s messed this up. He doesn’t apologize—he’s above that. So what if John rejects him—it doesn’t matter. But John takes him by surprise—he tells him that it was extraordinary. He sees Sherlock for who he believes himself to be and he not only doesn’t reject Sherlock, he accepts him.

As we quickly learn, John is willing to put up not only with Sherlock’s deductions, but with an inordinate amount of bad behavior. He puts up with bullets in the wall, temper-tantrums that are worthy of a sleep-deprived three-year-old, getting poisoned as part of an experiment, and body parts in the fridge. Sherlock never apologizes, and John seems to accept it as a matter of course.* Completely egregious acts aside though, Sherlock also lacks a basic understanding of a lot of basic human behavior and emotion. He doesn’t understand why someone would be upset about long-ago still born daughter. He thinks a kidnapping is “neat.” He thanks obviously distraught people for providing such an exciting case. When he’s called on those things though, he’s usually quick to change his behavior—all it takes is the implication that it is unacceptable. “Not good?” he asks, and John gently corrects him. “Bit not good, yeah.”

Not everyone is John though and, over the years, most of the people Sherlock has come into contact with must have simply rejected him and walked away. Sherlock accepts that as a manner of course—it’s a natural result of both his intentional and unintentional behavior, but it’s not one that he ever really faces. He lets people go because he’s convinced himself that it doesn’t matter, that he’s above it all. But he is above it not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. If he doesn’t allow the consequences to touch him, they can never hurt him. He almost never apologizes. As far as Sherlock knows, if his behavior is unacceptable, people will leave. What’s the point in apologizing? It is a vulnerable act—it puts one at the mercy of another person, a position that he categorically avoids. It would mean accepting the consequences of his actions, and that would make him vulnerable to both pain and rejection.

Sherlock does eventually discover that he can push John too far. He doesn’t anticipate the consequences of his supposed death and resurrection. As he finds himself staring into the face of his furious friend, he begins to realize that’s it’s not just one more magic trick that John will accept. He suddenly sees the result of his actions—he sees how badly he’s hurt John. Though he doesn’t quite understand the weight of that, the truth of it is repeatedly smashing him in the face.** It is entirely possible that he has messed this up beyond any hope of repair.

But then Sherlock does something differently than he has always done. He makes a different choice.

He apologizes.

He’s not good at it, but he hasn’t had much practice. The first attempt is epically terrible, as he’s just surprised John. He babbles nervously, he makes a joke about John’s mustache and every moment that vulnerability or honesty starts to slip through, he deflects or clams up. “I’ve nearly been in contact so many times but...” he admits before finishing the thought with “I worried that you, you know, might say something indiscreet.” It doesn’t work, of course, and Sherlock seems prepared to just let it go.

But as he recognizes the cost of what he’s done, he doesn’t let John walk away, even though it's his first impulse. He recognizes that this friendship is a thing worth having, that it is worth trying to save, and so he is willing to risk the pain.

His next attempt is better. He has the benefit of the fact that he had jumped into a bonfire to save John, and that John has willingly come to see him. But John puts another piece of the puzzle together, and Sherlock’s frustrated “I’m sorry” isn’t enough. It would have been at one point—they’re on speaking terms and John is helping with the case. Once upon a time, that would have been okay enough for Sherlock. But he recognizes now that sometimes saying “I’m sorry” isn’t enough. Sometimes it requires more than that.

He seizes his chance in the bomb-filled train car. Vulnerability is difficult for him, and so he both creates and makes use of a situation that allows him to say what he needs to say.*** “I’m sorry. I can’t…I can’t do it, John. I don’t know how. Forgive me. Please, John, forgive me, for all the hurt I caused you.” He’s not just apologizing; he’s begging for mercy. He doesn’t necessarily expect it to change anything, especially given the ruse, but even though it makes him vulnerable, even though it opens him up to the possibility of pain and rejection, he does it. He recognizes that he has messed up, and that his behavior has deeply hurt John.  He knows it may forever alter their relationship.  It’s a basic truth of humanity—your actions have consequences and sometimes you mess up and hurt the people you care about beyond all reasonable hope of repair. Sometimes there is no fixing it. He allows that to touch him.

But John, again, does the unexpected, and takes Sherlock completely by surprise. “You were the best, and the wisest man I have ever known,” John tells him. “Yes, of course I forgive you.”

Sherlock learns another basic truth of humanity. Because he has never apologized, because he has never let the consequences of his actions touch him, it is one that he has always missed. Yes, sometimes you screw things up, and you hurt the people close to you in utterly unspeakable ways. But sometimes people don’t tell you to piss off. Sometimes they forgive you, in spite of it all, in spite of the fact that you don’t deserve it.

—

(Part two: on The Sign of Three)

(Note: This is the first in a series of posts. As a whole, it’s my interpretation of Sherlock’s actions, as they are related to his ability to be human in series 3. It is a study in the way that he lets things get to him, of what it means to be human. You’ll be able to read them as a whole, or as individual stand -alone posts. Though my thoughts are all formulated based on my view of the series as a whole, there will be no spoilers for episodes other than the one the post relates to. )

*I cannot express this enough. Willing suspension of disbelief. It is well within the limits of mine, but your mileage may vary. I would not be okay with this behavior in real life, and I know that there are people that aren’t okay with it here. That is perfectly valid.

**Yeah, yeah, I know. It was too easy. I COULDN’T HELP IT, OKAY?