[ what. Watson? it was Watson who had Moriarty tumble? that she tumbled at all is news and he'll have to bring it up, but Watson? it sits alien in his head, lies contrary to any understanding he's laid over the name. Watson: threat. a Watson. a Watson, a threat.

my.

immediately she rockets into his field of vision as a piece elevated from its board, the potential of a pawn being something else entirely. he might be a man well in touch with his own majesty but he's never blinkered, he didn't get there wielding stupidity. if she's something, she's something. and he'll find her out. she, Joan Watson, newly listed to be examined as something other than a tool for mangling Sherlock Holmes. it's fascinating. annoying, horribly annoying, and he's predisposed by sheer force of bafflement to the notion that they're all just a lot more touchy feely a universe over and it's to blame for absolutely everything else— but fascinating all the same.

and it's absolutely not what he came here to discuss. Sherlock's suggestions are perfectly sound on that front: he'll get better talk from his counterpart and the woman herself.]

Nice, nice, nice. Lovely, really, thanks for that.

[so, onwards to what brought him lurking... ]

Question, though: why did you bother to tell me she didn't exist? She was perfectly safe worlds away, but you still gave me a "no" when I asked you if you had one.