And Holmes, in turn, sees Sherlock's own, and he has the withdraw his emotions for a moment before they're too free, even if it's merely with himself. Does he, though? Does he really know to what Holmes is referring? Moriarty, just recently emerged, just recently-- And yet when he studies this other man, he looks so young compared to himself - not just in features but the eyes, everything isn't quite so weary as Holmes feels. He wonders if Sherlock has (perhaps had) a Moriarty. He wonders what his is like.

Their thoughts are converging and reflecting each other in vastly different ways, but there is a very large and guilty part of Holmes that doesn't like to think about Watson right now, not when he remembers that man's face so clearly. And when he still hasn't told him.

"'Caught on', honestly, will I listen to myself? Lording everything over everyone, particularly me." Oh, this was going to be a fun new thing to get used to. Holmes' nose wrinkles as he looks Sherlock over, and after a moment, shrugs nonchalantly. "At least I can grow facial hair, but no matter."

Conveniently glossing over at least the most of Sherlock's remarking upon his story, Holmes picks out the better parts of things. Selective hearing. He's always had it. "He remarks, as though I'll ever disappoint. In time." Maybe. Possibly. If he felt like it, dammit. "Tobacco, of course; I'm famished," he adds as an afterthought, and he really is gasping for something to smoke already. He hasn't had a puff since he's woken up. Why, it's an outrage.

Sherlock is grinning; Holmes' eyes are rolling. "For goodness' sake, 'Holmes' will suffice. We'll save the Sherlocks in my favor for only the criminally insane," like Mycroft, "shall we?"