Moran fights through the cloud in his mind, and he comes up fighting too, pulling against the arms that restrain him. His hands are in cuffs too, and he pulls against them, not caring overmuch about the metal that digs into his skin. His vision's already adjusted to the dark, but the coppers that hold him uncover their lanterns and bathe the room in light. He sees them there -- not just Holmes, but Watson too, the man he just shot, and with a cry of rage he pulls at the men that hold him again.

"You -- !"

It clicks, what Holmes must've done, and he glares at him.

"You fiend. You clever, clever fiend."