"Nothing at all," says Sherlock without rancor. He holds up the stone, makes a face at it, and tosses it away; it clatters along the ground. Not littering in Spaceship Prison, as it is now termed in his head, is not his top priority. "I was last in 2012 C.E. in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. What language are you speaking?"
The less the stranger seems to recognize, the more interested Sherlock becomes. He's now dealt with people from historical Earth, alternate Earths, future Earths--but not many from other places entirely. It's another data point for his graph. Metaphorically speaking. If there's an equation that can plot the distribution of people and worlds in this place, he doesn't yet know it. This place is full of a near-infinite number of things he doesn't yet know. But then again, that's always been true.
He favors the strangely dressed man with half a smile. This is not to be polite--which wouldn't have crossed his mind--but because something about his manner sets Sherlock mildly at ease. It's a sense of affinity.
no subject
The less the stranger seems to recognize, the more interested Sherlock becomes. He's now dealt with people from historical Earth, alternate Earths, future Earths--but not many from other places entirely. It's another data point for his graph. Metaphorically speaking. If there's an equation that can plot the distribution of people and worlds in this place, he doesn't yet know it. This place is full of a near-infinite number of things he doesn't yet know. But then again, that's always been true.
He favors the strangely dressed man with half a smile. This is not to be polite--which wouldn't have crossed his mind--but because something about his manner sets Sherlock mildly at ease. It's a sense of affinity.