"My plans are generally made for the solving of crime, not the perpetuating of it," Sherlock said, a little sourly, as he pulls his hands back and turns his attention to the slowly cooking animals.

In truth, all his plans are in ribbons. Everything he had worked so hard for, had sacrificed so much for, personally, was dashed. By a does of poison. The rage flashed in his eyes but he kept them peeled on the fire.

He couldn't mention it even to Howard, let alone the entire Capitol listening in on their every word, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Keep you alive. Keep me alive. Try not to run into any psychopaths with magic or massive weaponry." And burn this place to the ground.