I'm rightly tired of the pain I hear and feel, boss. I'm tired of bein on the road, lonely as a robin in the rain. Not never havin no buddy to go on with or tell me where we's comin from or goin to or why. I'm tired of people bein ugly to each other. It feels like pieces of glass in my head. I'm tired of all the times I've wanted to help and couldn't. I'm tired of bein in the dark. Mostly it's the pain. There's too much. If I could end it, I would.
— You need to see him, John. You need to help him!
— He needs you!
— Somebody else. Not me. Not now.
— Now, you just listen to me for once in your stupid life. I know Mary's dead and I know your heart is broken. But if Sherlock Holmes dies too, who'll you have then? Because I'll tell you something, John Watson. You will not have me.
— Have you spoken to Mycroft, Molly, anyone?
— They don't matter, you do. Would you just see him, please, John? Or just take a look at him as a doctor? I know you'd change your mind if you did.
— Yeah, look. Okay. Maybe, if I get a chance.
— Do you promise?
— I'll try if I'm in the area.
— Promise me?
— I promise.
— Thank you.
[opens the trunk where Holmes is lying]