"Sherlock Holmes," and the man shakes Tony's hand absently, still considering the food with apprehension visible on his features. His grip is strong, though not crushing, simply a man's polite handshake.

Grey eyes sweep the sandwich - well, if this gentleman's eating the food, then it's certainly not poisoned. Sherlock's not in the mood to eat though, and the cup of tea he's pretending to drink obviously hasn't been touched. "Consulting detective, and yes, I am a bit bored. I've read all of the history this place has on itself and I'm finding it woefully incomplete. It's simultaneously annoying and a bit tragic that England's been turned into this pathetic wasteland of a country, but if we're here to fix it bit by bit, well, then so be it. I need a lab, a rather extensive chemistry set, sets of beakers and all, and I need one of those beasts that tore this hall apart to take samples to figure out what it's... allergic to, to see if its physiology adapts to poisons or if there's a neat, simple clean way of getting it done. Once that's done, I need to figure out each point in history that lead up to England looking like this - maybe someone's already done that and there's not enough staff to send back in time to make up for that fact, perhaps they haven't, and it needs doing anyway, which means I need books, lots of books. I've been told the internet doesn't exist here, so books it is."

Sherlock pauses for breath, pretending to sip at his tea as he regards Tony with impassive eyes. Sherlock inhales Tony, his hair product, his cologne, the scent of his suit, the food he's been eating, ignoring the other scents about him. If the other man's going to smell the room, well, by the Queen, so is Sherlock. Might be something he missed.