For a millisecond there was nothing but frozen tension inside Sherlock, before everything fizzed into life in a brilliant explosion of colour and inspiration. Adrenaline flooded him to keep the sedation effect at bay, because this is what he lived for. No drug could ever give him this sort of high, nothing else could ever interest him as much. The game, life or death, his brain against impossible odds, that was what he craved.
His gaze immediately turned inward to monitor his body, to check on all his vital signals and any symptoms that may be progressing. The bomb would have to wait for at least a minute or so, he wasn't going to be able to diffuse it still handcuffed and so he had to diagnose himself first in order to get free.
Slightly fluttering heartrate, sluggish limbs, slower breathing. A sedative, then. He flexed his fingers, no numbness so it wasn't a morphine derivative. He didn't feel heavy so it wasn't anaesthesia. Something to counterbalance the cocaine--
"Delay-action Zopiclone, at least fifteen milligrams."
He rolled his tongue inside his mouth to garner any remaining taste. The bitterness of the tea, the cloying sweetness of the milk and sugar, the discarded chemical taste of the two already identified chemical substances. And something else, something sharp. Something else with a delayed action, could be anything, could even be something deadly. Designed to be a final test, can he get medical attention before it kills him. Maybe, maybe not, maybe it was just a squeeze of lemon.
But he doubted it.
"Ricin."
It's a guess. Mostly flavourless, developed from the castor oil bean, it mercilessly attacked the organs of the victim and usually had them dead to infection or internal haemorrhaging in a few days. Maybe, maybe not. He wasn't afraid, even if it was that, far too engrossed in the game for anything stupid like worrying about his own mortality.
no subject
His gaze immediately turned inward to monitor his body, to check on all his vital signals and any symptoms that may be progressing. The bomb would have to wait for at least a minute or so, he wasn't going to be able to diffuse it still handcuffed and so he had to diagnose himself first in order to get free.
Slightly fluttering heartrate, sluggish limbs, slower breathing. A sedative, then. He flexed his fingers, no numbness so it wasn't a morphine derivative. He didn't feel heavy so it wasn't anaesthesia. Something to counterbalance the cocaine--
"Delay-action Zopiclone, at least fifteen milligrams."
He rolled his tongue inside his mouth to garner any remaining taste. The bitterness of the tea, the cloying sweetness of the milk and sugar, the discarded chemical taste of the two already identified chemical substances. And something else, something sharp. Something else with a delayed action, could be anything, could even be something deadly. Designed to be a final test, can he get medical attention before it kills him. Maybe, maybe not, maybe it was just a squeeze of lemon.
But he doubted it.
"Ricin."
It's a guess. Mostly flavourless, developed from the castor oil bean, it mercilessly attacked the organs of the victim and usually had them dead to infection or internal haemorrhaging in a few days. Maybe, maybe not. He wasn't afraid, even if it was that, far too engrossed in the game for anything stupid like worrying about his own mortality.