The dark haired man coughed, and John lay him down on the couch. At first he sighed, rolling down on the pillows, boneless as a cat. Then his eyelids opened and he sat up stiff and straight, his eyes bulging out of his head like quail eggs. He looked to the right, and to the left, and then up at the ceiling.
"What? Where? Who?" he said before pushing himself up to his feet. He swayed for a second like a sapling in a strong wind, and then he began to fall.
John reached out and grabbed him, lowering him back on the couch and saying, "Whoa there. You just got up. Take it a bit slower."
The man looked at John and said, "Accent, North American with traces of Anglia. Walls and ceiling made of real wood, pine, but you obviously couldn't afford the cost. You're a ground rat."
"I beg your pardon?" John said pointedly staring at the man his hands still gripping his shoulders.
"Let me up!" the stranger said pushing himself to his feet again. John stood beside him ready to catch him if he fell, but he steadied himself. "It feels strange here," he said. "Something wrong with the gravity." Then he started to walk straight toward me. John put a hand on his shoulder to check him, but he shook it off. "Let me out. I must see!" he said, and charged ahead.
He rushed past me going through the kitchen and out the front door with John quick on his heels. Ma and I followed letting the screen door slam behind us. We was ready to chase him down if he were running crazy, but he was right outside standing stock still on the front walk looking straight up at the full moon as if he'd never seen one before. John rushed over to stand beside him case he should fall again.
The air was cool that night but not cold. There were crickets chirping in the grass and the occasional whippoorwhil calling. The man stood still as if he were frozen, as if he were carved from stone.
We all just stood there watching him, as if he were a cobra ready to strike. It must have been a full minute before anyone moved. It were the man who spoke first.
"I'm on Earth," he said.
"Spot on!" John said, "Brilliant deduction that. You should make a career of it."
The man turned his head and stared down at John. He was almost a full head taller than him, and as thin as he was he looked even taller. "Who are you?" he asked wrinkling his brow.
"John H. Watson at your service," he said reaching out his hand. The other man stared at it as if it were some exotic sea creature as he didn't want to touch. After a moment John put his hand down. "And would you be so kind as to tell us your name? Unless you would prefer for us call you 'hey you!' ."
"No," he said, "I would prefer that you did not. My name is Sherlock."
"Sherlock? No last name, just Sherlock?"
"You asked what to call me. I told you. That is all that you need to know."
"Ah..well, now that you've ascertained your location, are you ready to go back inside and rest? Maybe have a bit of Ma's delicious chicken soup?"
"Ascertained? Why that word? It's archaic. What sort of primitive world have I landed myself on. Those drugs must have been stronger than I thought."
"Drugs?" John said frowning. "Is that how you ended up lying half-dead on the side of the road." The man turned his body half around and locked his eyes on John. John looked right back. "Come inside," he said.
He nodded for us to go ahead, so Ma and I went back in. I looked back through the door watching them standing side by side. The man was looking up at the moon again. The fabric on his close fitting suit shimmered in the moonlight. He looked odd, like he were an elf out of one of those fantasy books that John always read. John were starin' at him as if he were icecream. His mouth were open and his eyes round in wonder. And it weren't surprising. John was always attracted to everything strange and different and this man was certainly different than anything we had ever seen.
Ma poured up a bowl of soup and told me to have a bite. I sat waiting for the steam to part, glancing over to the door as I waited for them to enter. John swung the door open with his hand and the man come in hesitant like. He looked around the room, staring down his nose at it, as if it were a pigs pen.
"Why don't you have a bite," John said. "It looks as if you could use a bit of sup."
"Dine here? I've never even stood in such a domicile before."
"Then you've probably never tasted a homecooked meal." He pulled out a chair for the man, who glared at it before sitting down on it. Then Ma put a steaming bowl of soup in front of him.
"Go on now," Johnny said. "Eat!"