"You calling me stubborn? Bit rich that." But it falls a bit flat; talking is a bit painful. He takes the pill and follows it with some sips of water, drinking about half before he hands it back. "Now, you're finishing the rest, and don't bother protesting."

He thinks a moment about how to phrase it. "You want to be in decent shape when you're presented to the Queen anyway." He's trying to communicate, without being too obvious, that he thinks Mycroft had been having him tailed, and perhaps he'll work out where they are. Because the truth is that he knows neither of them are in any shape to make an escape, especially if Sherlock's too stubborn to leave him.

Stubborn git. He would show up with a sense of morals at the worst bloody time.

He tries to shift a little, get comfortable, but his foot just brushes against the floor and he has to clap his hand over his mouth to try and muffle the noise, though he really isn't successful. Shite, fuck that hurts. He's pretty sure things are cut up in there from what they did; if they aren't out soon, he'll probably loose the foot.