"I do not," says the man with a slight frown; he looks unfazed by the question and lack of greeting, however, like this has been coming up a lot recently. Given the place and circumstances, this would not be surprising. "No one seems to concur. There are some of us from entirely different star systems and calendars in the first place, and then those of us that share one all disagree on the precise point. It's all moot, anyway--" He gestures with the rock. "If what they say is true--if--we're not orbiting a star. We may as well be making notches on a cell wall."

Sherlock doesn't mind people who want to discuss their situation without the formalities of small talk: in fact, he tends to prefer it. He has every intention of going back to what he is doing (which is testing the building material with various objects to see if he can narrow down what it might be). But this man snags his attention anyway for the moment--if only because he's so cavalier about his question.

He glances at the stranger, but he can't ascertain anything from the man's peculiar outfit. "What year were you expecting?"