Jim had no idea where he was, which was a new feeling. He was inclined to be irritated, but he was withholding judgement - the situation he'd just (apparently) left was hardly ideal to begin with, and maybe this would turn out to be somehow more advantageous. As unlikely as it seemed, waking up somewhere completely unfamiliar didn't always have to lead to disaster.
He almost let himself hope Sherlock was behind it. They'd gotten off on the right foot, as far as he was concerned, and he was ready to be impressed. Dumping someone in the middle of some ridiculous country village with no memory of the journey was quite a feat, and - hey, he was a good sport. He was ready to be impressed.
'Pleasantly surprised' was just as good, though, and when an hour or so into his cautious wandering he caught sight of a very familiar face indeed, he had to keep from laughing. The only thing that put him on his guard was that cane. Watson hadn't needed it the last time he'd seen him, but who knew how much time had passed between now and then. Maybe they could help enlighten each other.
"Hello, John," he said with a mild smile, walking up to him with his hands in the pockets and an air of casual unflappability. As though he couldn't still smell the chlorine on his suit, as though he wasn't looking John over as carefully as he could for signs of that damned handgun.