After an intense silence, Sherlock utters a sly laugh. "I think all those years of thinking with your stomach have finally took it's toll."
Mycroft sighs and sidelong glances John. "He thinks we're having him on."
"I absolutely refuse to believe someone could survive that kind of procedure. I mean, look." Sherlock stretches out two white arms, completely unscathed. "Not a scratch. John looks worse off than me."
The named doctor is looking rather lost for what to say, standing with the only injury to show being a black eye from where he had smacked face-first into the pool floor. Normally, if Sherlock did not want to acknowledge something then there was no arguing with him. But .. this bloody bizarre situation. There's no ignoring it.
He tries to compromise, absolutely willing to help if Sherlock actually accepts it. "Look, Sherlock. I saw you, before they did it. You looked like a piece of coal. It's mad to think about, but things could have been so much worse .. "
"There is nothing to think about." Sherlock insists, with quite a forceful glare that demands that no more is to spoken of the matter. Seeing that he is getting nowhere, John shakes his head and sighs -Mycroft, meanwhile, keeping his eyes trained upon his younger brother.
"Go Go Gadget Pen."
The youngest Holmes lifts an impatient look to his brother. "What?"
"It's one of your default devices. Say it: 'Go Go Gadget Pen'."
"I will not!"
As soon as Sherlock raises his voice, there is a loud whirring (as though someone has turned on an electric whisk) and in a motion so quick it shocks even Mycroft, Sherlock's head flies off his shoulders and crashes through the ceiling - his neck stretched into a metal shaft. The rest of the body is tensed in horror, one can only imagine what the face must look like.
"I suppose it's too late for me to tell him not to lose his head." Mycroft comments to the stunned John, who is standing back with his face craned upward.