When Watson grabs him, he can't help but look into his eyes, and he doesn't really like what he sees there, not in the least. It does, however, start to stir him, to shake him from the cold foundations on which he'd been resting. He doesn't resist, however; he doesn't have the fight in him to be able to throw Watson off. He doesn't want to struggle; it's horrible to be staring down into Watson's rage, but he doesn't know yet if this is the closest he will get to being allowed in Watson's embrace. He can smell Watson from here, and he smells the same.

The only weapon he has against Watson's fury just now is the truth, and he wields it as placidly as he's ever wielded it, even if his voice slips into the telltale flat tone of his suppressed emotion.

"Because there is a man with very good aim and a very quiet gun, and the second he is aware that I am alive and in your presence, he will attempt to kill you."

He waits for that to sink in before he reaches up to Watson's wrists and touches them lightly.

"I ask you to save at least one right hook for him, if you please, as it's his scheme in which we find ourselves props."