Cal had completely forgotten about the DVDs. He finds that the tray of the DVD player has already slid out, reminding him to grab the disc and put it in its case. (Jarvis is helpful like that.)

As he does so, his movements are more stiffly controlled than they were a moment ago; the façade has fallen away again, unneeded with just Sherlock around, and the real Cal isn't so good at covering.

"You're more than welcome," he says, forgetting that that is, technically speaking, not true as far as his mother is concerned, "as long as you don't mind me smoking a bowl the size of my fucking head when we get there."