"Remarkable."

"A truly unique specimen!"

"Look at that—it hasn't even the slightest reaction."

"Not a flicker of intelligence—a beast in the distorted image of man—incredible."

Dr. John Watson stood back, solemnly taking in the spectacle of his scientific and medical colleagues examining and speculating over the strange being. The discovery had been kept quite hushed, word passed quietly among colleagues to attend this informal gathering. The gentlemen crowded eagerly about the creature, animatedly discussing theories and research opportunities. A few others, like him, stood back, quite disapproval shadowing intelligent faces.

"And who is to have research privileges?"

Good natured ribbing and friendly competition ensued.

"We could bid for it," someone suggested.

"And the proceeds to The Royal Science Academy!"

A chorus of "here-here's" followed, and friendly bidding began.

Through the entire exchange the being remained entirely unaffected, unmoving. Indeed, his eyes betrayed not a flicker of awareness. And yet; John could not shake the likeness to the glassy stare of soldiers he had seen, wounded in soul by the horrors of war, unwilling or unable to continue to acknowledge the world around them.

"I don't know if you can understand me," he began, watching for any acknowledgement.

There was none.

"I'm actually quite concerned you're in shock," he muttered. "My name is John Watson. I'm a doctor," he offered awkwardly.

"I want to help you."

Expressionless eyes gazed unseeingly.

"I know you can hear me," he insisted, "even if you can't understand me. And I find the idea that you are not an intelligent creature preposterous."

The man swayed with the cab's movement. If he hadn't seen the man get into the cab minutes ago, the doctor might have believed him to be truly catatonic.

John reached across and took the cold hand in his own.

The other man's body tensed, eyes fluttered closed. Some reaction at last.

Despite the utter stillness of his features, the man looked for all the world as if he was in pain, or as if he fully expected to be.

To his surprise, he felt the slightest tremor in the hand he held, then it began to tremble in earnest.

Flooded with compassion for this maltreated being, he gently trapped the hand between both of his.

After long still moments, the man suddenly turned his hand, began to withdraw.

It was the first voluntary movement John had seen him make since he had climbed obediently into the cab.

The movement stopped, cold fingertips just touching his own. Eyes remained closed.

Equal parts concerned and fascinated, John waited.

The dark head gradually bowed, shoulders curled forward. A soft sound, the half-gasp of a silenced sob. The tremors quickly overtook the whole body.

"Damn it, now you are in shock," John said, alarmed. He yanked off his coat and wrapped it around the other's shoulders, moving to sit beside him.

"Breathe," he commanded, pressing the man forward with a firm hand between his shoulder blades.

The man's rapid breathing slowly evened out.

John wasn't sure if he imagined the man leaning into his supportive arm ever so slightly.

Then he straightened up, visibly fighting to regain control. "I—" he said softly.

John's jaw dropped. So he could speak.

"I am Sherlock"

Dark eyes tracked slowly up to his face.

"Sherlock," John repeated the foreign name softly. "I know you haven't much reason to trust me, Sherlock, but I would very much like to help you." He waited, hoping.

The man called Sherlock inclined his head gracefully. "I accept."