It's not that Holmes has any intention of 'stealing' this Sherlock's John Watson. Though he's completely, without end, starkly curious as to how the men differ and yet coincide, he would never and could never. Partially because, being Sherlock Holmes, he knows just how much John Watson means to Sherlock Holmes. More importantly because, no matter what he's going to meet later, what he looks like, what he acts like, what he sounds like, he's just quite plainly not going to be Holmes' John Watson. And it's a fact that he'd never really be able to shake. He knows it without even meeting the man.

Not for the first time, Holmes quelches a sharp feeling in his chest, one that he doesn't wish to identify nor lend any credence to.

Sherlock won't give him the lighter, and so Holmes doesn't even make a move to reach out for it, edging his pipe from his mouth to his hand and peering at Sherlock knowingly. There's a part of him that has a strong feeling Sherlock is about to be telling him a very familiar story. Not entirely the same, no, but it wasn't until the first and last time James Moriarty reared his head that his plans began to truly unfold. Not across merely London, however. Much more large scale.

They can't discuss this here. A relocation is necessary, and though Holmes doesn't quite know what the Oxygen Garden is, he can wager a sufficient guess.

"We wouldn't want to disturb anyone with our smoking, of course," he offers in return, giving a small smile. Pipe back in mouth, he wraps his own suit around the violin to protect it, carts that under his good arm and gestures with his other hand as if to say, 'Lead the way.'