Sherlock furrows his brow at the concept of suspension, but as much as it bothers him as well, it doesn't snag at his mind as much as the concept of the city simply being... rearranged. That's got a disturbing, vast, somewhat impressive dreamlike quality to it; a physical prison is one thing, but this is more like a simulation that the programmers can change with a keystroke. He tabs to his city map, then gets up from his bed (still in his blue housecoat) and looks out the window.

The pattern of lights looks decidedly different than he remembers it. He recalls cold light again and the shadows of uncertain, amorphous shapes.

There's something new to the north, I see. -SH

Already he's pulling on trousers and a shirt.