[Black ears set high on Ryou's head flick upward, and his lips are peeled back defensively to reveal pointed, gleaming white teeth, but it's not directed at Sherlock.

He's scared, because his mind was reneging against him again. This wasn't a death taking a memory, this was of his own accord! Like hiding how he got the Ring from himself, because it hurt too much to remember the horror of it, of an imperfect first possession that let him see everything while not being able to move his body.

He stands there, a werewolf-shaped construct with bright white eyes that looked as if someone had lit it with black flames, and after a moment, he finds his voice again.]

I remember...I was walking to the lake, and I was snatched up. And then...he, Mr. Osborn...he snapped my neck and told me it was retribution, that the Fog didn't care for me, but the Fourth cared for his own.

Then he...the fish, they were the ones...but it was him who dropped me.

[Ryou lets out a hissing breath, his lips finally relaxing to cover his teeth.]

I didn't mean to forget. What if...one day, without it being because I died, I forget something important? I can't risk it...if I lose my memories, then I'll be less of myself than I ever was.

[This isn't really the responsibility of the one who's been made to listen to it. But in fairness...he opened the door.]