Not physically, of course. [ He flaps a hand and sits back, as if trying to dispel Mikotoba's shock. ] You know what I mean to say—

This. [ He taps his temple, then immediately frowns as if that isn't quite right. ]

Or rather, this. [ Sholmes' hand lowers to rest over his heart, the more poetic seat of emotion. ] The sort of wounds that can't be mended with a plaster.

[ The where in Mikotoba's question goes entirely unaddressed; he's not about to lay any blame on Susato. Besides, she hadn't sown that seed in the first place—only unearthed the existing, gnarly roots of Sholmes' own self-doubt. ]