"Do... I want to know where you are finding all of this?" Sherlock asked, with humor in his voice. When he opened the bag, soaked with oil so it was waterproof, he knew exactly what this was.

"You don't know what this is, do you?" He asked, opening it so John could see. He was careful not to drop one pellet, it was all precious. It may be his ticket out of here.

Sherlock had taken to sleeping- or trying to sleep - more. He had less and less energy, so he could do less and less foraging, which meant less eating, less energy, and more sleeping. He knew it was a destructive downward spiral, and he was going to die soon if something didn't change.

His clothes were hanging off of him and he had blisters on his skin. There were cuts that looked like they weren't healing and he knew if they got infected, then it would be an even shorter trip to the grave.

But this, this could change everything.

"I... I need to gather combustible material on the beach." He looked up at the sky. "It's too late tonight. I will have to in the morning."