The sight of Sherlock with a cigarette makes Bradbury's mouth twist in grim amusement. Of course, he'd been able to peg Sherlock as a smoker before, but he's never actually seen the man indulge.

There's a touch of envy to the expression, too. God, he'd kill for a cigarette right now. He never actually used to need the damn things, but he figures the chances of Sherlock giving him one are zero, right about now. Besides, as Sherlock's observed, he's having trouble just keeping upright.

"Haven't lost anything," he hisses, ignoring how blatantly untrue that is. "The hell did you hit me with?"