As the duo entered the room, Sherlock was curled up on his side in the corner, and barely looked up. When he was picked up, however, his skeletal body tensed, and his glassy eyes widened. But he said nothing, just watched the two with wide, fearful eyes; never had his imagination put in another person.
"Thanks, doc," Cook murmured, managing to crack a smile. "Family put him in here. Frankly, we’re lucky he survived."
"Humans, yes?" The woman raised a perfectly pencilled eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line for a split second. "They do verge on the incredulous side. They say the wolf doesn’t want the sheep to know he’s there, but the sheep also refuse to acknowledge him…even when they stare into his hungry eyes sometimes."
The man nodded. For once, he could understand one of her analogies. “Well, thank you for the help, doc. Really appreciate it.”
"And I appreciate keeping our existence hidden," she replied, playing with the string of pearls around her neck. "And your brother’s trinket comes in handy, I have to admit."
As they spoke, Sherlock’s eyes darted up and down the stranger, deductions silently playing out in his mind only to be lost with the next. It felt like hours by the time they’d finished talking, though it must’ve only been minutes. Finally, Sherlock got up his courage and rasped out, “Who are you?”