The taller man averts his gaze almost immediately when John stares into his eyes, looking down at his feet, the grass, the sky - anything but the doctor's face, actually. He settles for John's left shoulder.

Sherlock has never sat down so quickly in his life. The blood on his lips has mostly finished coagulating, but his nose has a nasty reddish cast to it, and there will most certainly be a black eye later. There's a flicker of fear in his eyes as John picks up the cane, and he actually presses back into the bench, inhaling sharply.

He says absolutely nothing.