Scene: Sherlock and John are in 221B. John has procured some fresh body parts from the morgue and a few sleeves of recently donated blood. Sherlock is slouched in his chair, vines growing from his back, little ones from his arms, leaves on his legs and in his hair. He is a very pale, sickly green color with no blooms. He looks tired.
John: Come on, Sherlock...
Sherlock: No.
John: *waving some body parts* They're tasty...
Sherlock: *tired of being asked* I said, no.
John: *sighs* All right. *goes to cut his finger* How about some blood? *squeezes until it oozes out, holds it in front of Sherlock*
Sherlock: *is transfixed momentarily, the plant in him begging for sustenance, but he ultimately refuses, turning his head up* No! I won't!
John: I'm sure it tastes just like chicken.
Sherlock: *glares at him* Those are HUMAN, you know.
John: I'm aware. But they're dead. Only newly dead. And I didn't kill them.
Sherlock: *blinking blearily at John, looking weaker and weaker by the second*
John: Look, Sherlock, you need to eat something. At least a few drops of my blood.
Sherlock: If I eat, I'll grow. And I'm much too weak to grow anymore. If I do, I'll die.
John: Oh, Sherlock...
Sherlock: No! You don't get it, do you?
John: What?
Sherlock: The plant! Moriarty Two! IT did this to me! Poisoned me, kept me about to play with! All while it's gorging itself on prisoners Moriarty brings to it. Innocent people, being devoured by an over-sized, other-worldly venus flytrap. *wilts further* John...there must be a way to break the plant's curse! We have to stop it!
John: *confused* Why?
Sherlock: Because it's not here to cater to the human race. My instincts are very clear about that. It was so disgusting for me to nibble at day-old corpses. My stomach was nauseous! No, it wants fresh, human blood. And lots of it. No, Two is here to eat the world!