When his eyes track back over to the book they briefly hitch on the scars, then resume motion once more.
He's been in the world long enough to realize what those marks mean, after a second's thought. He doesn't need the devil to tell him everything.
So, Holmes has a sordid little bit of his past-- or present? No, none of the needle marks look fresh enough for that.
He half-closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the stone of the wall while Holmes talks (and plays medic, more competently-- Jason has to admit to himself-- than he would have given the younger man credit for).
Of course, with that tendency to stick his nose into other people's business, it would stand to reason that that nose has been smacked a few times, and that patching it up after is a useful skill.
Holmes's pale fingers feel bloodless and cold against his skin, but Jason knows it's merely a function of his own always-a-little-too-warm skin.
There is no real reason for him to tolerate Holmes doing this-- as he'd said, infection isn't a problem for him, and while bleeding all the damn way back to the tram isn't exactly the most enjoyable thing he can think to be doing with his time, it's not the worst either. But Holmes is doing it, and it means he isn't bleeding all the damn way back to the tram, and...
(and he's tired, and his calf throbs and his wrist throbs, and leaving would take effort, and--)
"No," he says to Holmes's sharp question. "I have an ongoing interest in magical books. And in those who would use them, especially with little idea of what they are doing."
He closes his eyes a moment. The responsible thing would be to take the damn thing away from Holmes, which is the sort of thing he's done many times back home-- confiscate this or that dagger or book or necklace before some idiot with more ambition than sense manages to summon something foul-- and he is quite certain that this will lead to an argument he doesn't particularly wish to have right now. Outrage, argument-- argument-- more argument-- Sherlock Holmes pointing out that if somebody would explain the book then he would know what he was doing...
This is almost certainly a bad idea. Etrigan isn't saying anything about it, which reinforces that judgment. He opens his eyes.
[Location]
He's been in the world long enough to realize what those marks mean, after a second's thought. He doesn't need the devil to tell him everything.
So, Holmes has a sordid little bit of his past-- or present? No, none of the needle marks look fresh enough for that.
He half-closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the stone of the wall while Holmes talks (and plays medic, more competently-- Jason has to admit to himself-- than he would have given the younger man credit for).
Of course, with that tendency to stick his nose into other people's business, it would stand to reason that that nose has been smacked a few times, and that patching it up after is a useful skill.
Holmes's pale fingers feel bloodless and cold against his skin, but Jason knows it's merely a function of his own always-a-little-too-warm skin.
There is no real reason for him to tolerate Holmes doing this-- as he'd said, infection isn't a problem for him, and while bleeding all the damn way back to the tram isn't exactly the most enjoyable thing he can think to be doing with his time, it's not the worst either. But Holmes is doing it, and it means he isn't bleeding all the damn way back to the tram, and...
(and he's tired, and his calf throbs and his wrist throbs, and leaving would take effort, and--)
"No," he says to Holmes's sharp question. "I have an ongoing interest in magical books. And in those who would use them, especially with little idea of what they are doing."
He closes his eyes a moment. The responsible thing would be to take the damn thing away from Holmes, which is the sort of thing he's done many times back home-- confiscate this or that dagger or book or necklace before some idiot with more ambition than sense manages to summon something foul-- and he is quite certain that this will lead to an argument he doesn't particularly wish to have right now. Outrage, argument-- argument-- more argument-- Sherlock Holmes pointing out that if somebody would explain the book then he would know what he was doing...
This is almost certainly a bad idea. Etrigan isn't saying anything about it, which reinforces that judgment. He opens his eyes.
"I can look at it for you if you wish."