Scene: 211B on a stormy night. John is working on the computer and Sherlock is sitting on the couch, using a hedge trimmer to cut down his vines and branches. Since he is still refusing to eat, not only is he deathly thin, but his leaves are wilting and he is yellow-green with illness.

John: Doesn't that hurt?

Sherlock: Hmm?

John: To cut your vines? Does it hurt?

Sherlock: Not if I keep away from the parts attached to my skin. If I just snip the ends, it's fine.

Addition: There is silence for a while until a rumble of thunder. And then...

John: Did you hear that?

Sherlock: What?

John: That growling.

Sherlock: The thunder? John, you scare too easily to be living with a flesh-eating plant.

John: You don't eat. Ah...

Sherlock: No I don't...John? Why are you...?

John: *chuckling* That was your stomach.

Ambiance: The growling sounds again.

Sherlock: Yes. I suppose it was. *looking pointedly at John* It's also understandable, seeing as I haven't eaten in several weeks now.

John: Even plants need food. You'll die if I don't feed you and soon.

Sherlock: I don't want to rely on human flesh for food. *groans and holds his stomach* But...I am starving. Look at how wilted I am! *chuckling*

John: I'm positive a little of my blood won't turn you into a monster.

Sherlock: *the plant in him realizes its hunger and is VERY interested in John's proposition. Sherlock licks his lips, but...* Be strong, Sherlock, old boy. Be strong.

John: If I can hear your stomach, this is getting very bad. How long since...?

Sherlock: My last meal was a finger...about a month ago.

John: Good God. I've had houseplants die on me long before that!

Sherlock: I'm no ordinary houseplant. And neither is Two.

John: I know that.

Ambiance: Sherlock's stomach again, louder.

John: I'm beginning to wonder if it's just the plant in you that's hungry.

Sherlock: Of course it is. I rarely feel hungry. I only eat as a necessity.

John: It's necessary now.

Sherlock: *clasping his hands* There must be a way to break the curse. I'm so annoyed just being stuck here!

John: What if the cure is something simple?

Sherlock: Such as?

John: A certain blood type. Or blood from a certain person. *gives himself a paper cut*

Sherlock: *sees the blood* Please don't, John. I'm almost too hungry to be civil. John, don't come closer. John!

John: What, Sherlock?

Sherlock: What if it doesn't work?

John: Then at least it will make you healthy. Come on, Sherlock. A few drops of blood won't turn you into a monster.