"We've done this before!" John proclaimed before he tested the locked doors with a decided annoyance and wrestled for some sort of control of what was happening to him. No such luck. Black film rolled over the inside of the windows, obscuring the view. He hated always being kidnapped. It was so undignified.

Upstairs, waiting in the blast radius for Sherlock to happen upon it, was a single television monitor laying in the ash and rubble. It swung to life as he walked forward, Moriarty's face visible through cracks in the screen.

"We've hardly been apart but I've missed you as much as you've missed me. Don't worry about John," the recording or the broadcast said (though the production did seem to lend towards a prerecorded statement. "Decided he's the carrot after all! Will you play? Of course you will. But first we have to finish our first game. There actually was a little ricin in that tea. You were right! There's a bit of medicine for you under this screen."