Two days later, John Watson returned to Mycroft's private cell. He brought food hidden in a newspaper, like last time. This time, Mycroft's wasn't as desperate to eat as he was last time. He seemed calmer and slightly healthier. "You brought a pen." Mycroft said, and pulled a pen out of the rolled up newspaper. John must've forgotten it there somehow. The prisoner put the food on the coffee table, and then tore one of the newspaper's pages. He started writing on it eagerly. "What are you doing?" the doctor asked, confused. "Trying to figure out who framed me. I'm writing down everyone I know, and then I'll eliminate the names until I'll have one name left." "How will you eliminate them?" John thought his method was a great idea, but he couldn't completely understand it. "The blackmailer has to be someone who knows Sherlock and me personally. He must have some sort of access to my office. He must have a reason to want me isolated or dead, or a reason to want to sabotage my already-broken relationship with my brother." Mycroft continued talking, but his voice became lower and lower, until John couldn't hear it anymore. And just like Sherlock, he seemed so focused at what he's doing, so unaware of his surrounding, that John didn't feel uncomfortable when he left him there alone, with his list of names.