[Molly. Never joke. Please. When you joke, you make him want to explain to you the many, many reasons why you should not joke.

To his credit, he doesn't go into that explanation. He's learning? Sort of.

The cat... he dismisses entirely. Well, beyond that milk. He doesn't acknowledge her thanks, perhaps because it would mean acknowledging what he did for the cat. He really doesn't mind the creature, not at all. But he's not a "pet" person. A flatmate is aggravation enough, thank you.]

Why would you want to get used to this place? It's so. hideously. dull.

No one does anything.

Not until the puppet-masters pull a few little strings and everyone or nearly everyone shares in a kind of mass hysteria.

I'm beginning to think they inflict that on the population just to force them to do something remotely like being interesting.

They certainly don't think. Idiotic and complacent.

People pulled from all sorts of worlds, different "realities"... and yet the masses are the same, boring, monolithic herd as they are in London.

[And he sighs in typical Sherlock fashion.] I hate them all.