"I, um. Yes." Seriously, what. "Whoever Mr. Cage is, he's hopefully residing somewhere much safer and-" Holmes shifts as John takes the oxygen supply, eyes narrowing. "-larger."

When Holmes played games as a boy, even imaginary ones, he hardly dreamed about such physical impossibilities. Only sailing. And a small boy named Leonard who read all of the books that the other children didn't and agreed with all of Holmes' opinions. But not men stuck inside breathing apparatuses.

"One never knows when they're going to need a supplementary supply," he says passively, because the device has been useful for him in the recent past, impossibly useful. But he'd also had other intentions for it in his near future. Those plans had been sidetracked. "Though I'm afraid I've just the basics. The robe, the violin, the... heinous one piece number they seem to think I'll be wearing as part of a new wardrobe." He pops the pipe back in his mouth and shrugs a shoulder.

Mostly because he doesn't think John means the recreational substances rolled up in his pocket at current time and nor is he intending to let him in on that secret.