The dog? How did he know about the dog? Holmes actually allows himself a once-over, as if he's going to find hairs about after that long journey to hell and back, no, highly, highly improbable. Holmes can feel the objection on his lips, it's right there, 'Gladstone is OUR dog,' and it's so reflexive by now, but he doesn't dare answer the other man. Not when he can see his eyes flicker over, and he knows exactly just what it is he's going to touch into next.
During which he remains sufficiently calmed, despite everything. True, the wound is much worse for wear than when he started - the exit wound ragged because of the rush, of the hooked end tearing out flesh in the process. Like a trout, gutted. How very appropriate. He was spot on, of course; Watson had sewn up the wound with expert hands and the dotting of his stitches will still be apparent, and then his own, less savory, slapdash stitches over them, both inexperienced and done with a left hand rather than his favored right. It was no matter his wound was so bad as it was now, a few rivulets of coagulated blood streaking his shoulder. It was a gift at all that he hadn't caught infection.
Not for the first time, Holmes wishes for his pipe, or perhaps the towel back, if not just so he has something else to divert his attention to. He doesn't want to discuss his shoulder. He most certainly does not in the slightest want to discuss James Moriarty, or even still any doctors beginning with J and ending with Ohn Watson. But there's already a telltale way that his gaze has cast down, a wry smile pressing his lips into a tight line as he runs his thumbnail along his hairline, contemplatively.
"Perhaps a detailed story for you to hear some time," he offers after a few, long beats of silence. He glances back up to Sherlock, and for a moment his gaze sharpens as much as Sherlock's steely gaze. "It IS Sherlock Holmes. I presume." And he doesn't offer a handshake or much more in the way of a greeting; he just approaches him, more closely, standing sufficiently enough into Sherlock's personal bubble. He's painstakingly taller than him, but Holmes gets in his face enough to be unsettling anyway.
"And your nose is too pointy. Ta." With a flippant handwave, he backs off again.
Okay, so maybe a little injured about the shoulder analysis.
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During which he remains sufficiently calmed, despite everything. True, the wound is much worse for wear than when he started - the exit wound ragged because of the rush, of the hooked end tearing out flesh in the process. Like a trout, gutted. How very appropriate. He was spot on, of course; Watson had sewn up the wound with expert hands and the dotting of his stitches will still be apparent, and then his own, less savory, slapdash stitches over them, both inexperienced and done with a left hand rather than his favored right. It was no matter his wound was so bad as it was now, a few rivulets of coagulated blood streaking his shoulder. It was a gift at all that he hadn't caught infection.
Not for the first time, Holmes wishes for his pipe, or perhaps the towel back, if not just so he has something else to divert his attention to. He doesn't want to discuss his shoulder. He most certainly does not in the slightest want to discuss James Moriarty, or even still any doctors beginning with J and ending with Ohn Watson. But there's already a telltale way that his gaze has cast down, a wry smile pressing his lips into a tight line as he runs his thumbnail along his hairline, contemplatively.
"Perhaps a detailed story for you to hear some time," he offers after a few, long beats of silence. He glances back up to Sherlock, and for a moment his gaze sharpens as much as Sherlock's steely gaze. "It IS Sherlock Holmes. I presume." And he doesn't offer a handshake or much more in the way of a greeting; he just approaches him, more closely, standing sufficiently enough into Sherlock's personal bubble. He's painstakingly taller than him, but Holmes gets in his face enough to be unsettling anyway.
"And your nose is too pointy. Ta." With a flippant handwave, he backs off again.
Okay, so maybe a little injured about the shoulder analysis.