Sherlock's eyes were locked intently on the small figure that was currently gazing at the scull that towered over it. It was quite the strange sight, and something that Sherlock would have deemed impossible where he not staring straight at it. The small figure was a man, quite possibly one of the smallest men he'd ever seen. He was only about 8 centimeters tall, and dressed in an impossibly small knit sweater. One that you'd most likely see on a small doll. The little man seemed to have finally noticed the gaze that had been on him, and smiled politely up at Sherlock.
"I realize you have yet to tell me your name." Sherlock said suddenly, moving to pick up the small man from his place on the mantel with the scull.

He growled slightly from being moved from his spot, but knew there was no way he was going to get away from the huge man without falling to the ground, which seemed very high up from where he was. He tried to get himself comfortable in the palm of the other man's hand before looking up at him.

"My name is John Watson." He said simply, before looking back down.

"John Watson…" Sherlock observed the man more closely.

He had short blond hair, cut in military style. From what he could tell he favored his left arm over his right arm, which suggested that his right shoulder may have been injured somehow. Most likely from the people who worked in the laboratory where he had found John. He also walked with a slight limp, most likely psychosomatic. He brought John closer to his eyes. He had blue eyes, and looked rather tired. Hadn't slept in awhile. Perhaps two days? Three more likely. Sherlock deemed that to be good enough for now, and set the small man down on the coffee table before sitting down himself.

"Where you always in the laboratory? Or do you remember anything before then?"

John shrugged, messing with his tiny sweater. "I just remember waking up one day in a cage. Nothing before that. The people who worked there didn't know how to leave a man alone though. They managed to stab me in the shoulder with a syringe."

Ah yes, that explained the injury. "I assume you were one of the experiments in the laboratory then. Quite a strange thing, making an eight centimeter tall man. Although they did it quite successfully I might add."

"What are you going to do with me now then?" John crossed his arms, trying to look stern, or intimidating. "Are you just going to dump me out in the streets now that you've got some information out of me?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Do you care about the violin? I play it when I'm thinking…And occasionally I don't talk for days on end. Can you care for yourself without having me carry you around to do whatever it is you need?"

John was confused. "W-what? Why do you ask?"

"You're going to stay with me, obviously. I doubt anyone will really be able to care for a man of your stature. I'd hate to see a perfectly good experiment go to waste."

"Don't call me an experiment." John scowled. "And yes, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I did it before. Those scientists only ever ran tests on me. Other than that, I was on my own."

"Well then, welcome to 221B Baker Street. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and from the sound of those footsteps, I assume Mrs. Hudson will be arriving shortly to question why I seem to be talking to myself.

He held out his pointer finger, and gave John a small handshake. John smiled up at the man, not knowing that a woman was about to make a huge fuss over him.