"No, with - with Sherlock." If Watson didn't remember him, either Jim was going to be a little disappointed. He wasn't much use, then. "You two are always in and out of there together, you know, working on his ... mysteries, or whatever. That's how we met, it's been months. And you haven't needed that," he said, nodding to the cane with an appropriately abashed expression, letting himself go a little pink in the face, "for quite a while. You were doing better, that's all. Sorry. I didn't mean to, um ..."
He trailed off, looking embarrassed. Thinking. He didn't know how he'd come here, and it seemed as though neither did Watson, but he hadn't forgotten the past two months of his life - hadn't, as far as he knew, physically regressed. Strange. All he could do was try to learn more, and he'd been keen on learning a little more about John Watson, anyway. "Right, well." He cleared his throat, looking miserably about him. "I wish I knew where the hell I was, seeing as I obviously don't know who the hell I am."