[ Holmes lets out a careful hum of consideration, his fingers stilling behind Gladstone's ears long enough to roil over the facts he does know. It's of note that the situation is still one utterly new to Watson - not the ship, though it is undoubtedly, but his being alive. He's had months to entertain every possibility of Watson finding out, even so far as to prod John - the other John, that is - on the issue. Not to much avail. ]
[ It would be simple to stall. To bend the question around another question, to distract from the point for the time being until they came back around to it again, undoubtedly. It's not difficult to lead people afield as he so joyously does on so many an occasion, but this all seems bigger than it. ]
[ And the more he waits with Watson here and now in the room with him, the sillier it all seems, his own words crumbling in his mouth. ]
[ He shifts his footing, rooting around in a pocket and holding out a familiar enough object, he thinks - Mycroft's oxygen supply, that's been tucked neatly and long-sufferingly into his dresser in his room. Waiting for the opportune moment, probably. ] I never did get to send you your package, old boy.
[ The apology at least implied if so rarely said aloud. Holmes sniffs idly and dabs the handkerchief haphazardly under his nose with his free hand, without minding it too, too much. Bleeding a bit, still, lazily. ] I'll tell you whatever it is you'd like to know, and I easily owe you as much. Safety isn't so paramount an issue on a ship where the enemy in question isn't even present.
no subject
[ It would be simple to stall. To bend the question around another question, to distract from the point for the time being until they came back around to it again, undoubtedly. It's not difficult to lead people afield as he so joyously does on so many an occasion, but this all seems bigger than it. ]
[ And the more he waits with Watson here and now in the room with him, the sillier it all seems, his own words crumbling in his mouth. ]
[ He shifts his footing, rooting around in a pocket and holding out a familiar enough object, he thinks - Mycroft's oxygen supply, that's been tucked neatly and long-sufferingly into his dresser in his room. Waiting for the opportune moment, probably. ] I never did get to send you your package, old boy.
[ The apology at least implied if so rarely said aloud. Holmes sniffs idly and dabs the handkerchief haphazardly under his nose with his free hand, without minding it too, too much. Bleeding a bit, still, lazily. ] I'll tell you whatever it is you'd like to know, and I easily owe you as much. Safety isn't so paramount an issue on a ship where the enemy in question isn't even present.