John's eyes had trailed off to the side, and Chas could pretty much see the gears in his head turning. The thought, the futile combing for something he had missed. Absently, John plucked up the cough syrup and slipped it into a pocket of that dark coat of his.
"You know what I mean."
His eyes snapped up to Chas, and he reached for his breast pocket again. No cigarettes. Wonderful. Turning back to the sink he snatched up the bloody handkerchief and turned on the water. Maybe he could most of the blood out. "There's nothing to be done about it. You don't need any more things piled up to worry about." Unusually gruff, though the fact that he was even acknowledging this secret was...a step. Perhaps in the right direction?