"I know - it's bloody weird, isn't it? I don't remember how I got here, either." He let his shoulders sag a little, as though he were relaxing, and he tried another small, shy smile, skipping over traumatic experience with all the innocence of a lamb. "It's all right, really, it's not your fault. I shouldn't have just walked up to you like - but I remember that," he broke off, rubbing his hands together, almost excited. "I remember that, it was the day before he cracked that case with all those suicides. He said he had a flat to go look at .... we see each other, Sherlock and I, right, a bit around the hospital, but I don't think he likes me very much. Bit snappy, you know? But - yeah, maybe that's ... I don't know. Maybe that's all you can remember."
He regarded John with a fond expression. It was a real and a rare pleasure to stumble into something so valuable and yet so undefended. There was no excuse for not taking it for all it was worth. "I can fill you in on a little of it, if you want. Honestly, you're the first person I've even seen here, and - well, I've got the creeps, know what I mean? I could do with a drink. If you don't mind company," he added hastily.