Sherlock pulled himself into a sitting position and ignored the way that his head swam and nausea brought bile to the back of his throat. A concussion then, and not a particularly mild one. He should be careful of feeling too sleepy, for he certainly did not trust Moriarty to wake him if he did slip. The pain dulled as he compartmentalised it, focusing instead on his surroundings and the man in front of him.

"I'd love to have visited before, but I'm not visiting even now. A facsimile of a room, acoustics suggest warehouse and the smell indicates a packing plant for computer parts, likely only abandoned a year or two ago."

Having conquered sitting, Sherlock now decided to try standing. That was a mistake as it turned out, but aside from swaying he managed not to give too much of an outward show.

"Recently abandoned computer plant, Southwark? Am I to assume the snow has bored you too?"