Watson stares for a moment, startled, before it turns into a warm, if helpless chuckle. He always knew this wasn't going to be a typical medical appointment, especially if it was happening here, but the eternal dread of disrobing in front of someone for the first time has him pause for a moment.

Just a moment.

"Because of the blood, of course," he murmurs. "I -- well. Let me see to the fire. I haven't quite your advantage in a cold room."

He smiles, a little shy, a little bashful, and he steps away to add fuel to the iron stove and put another kettle of water on the top of it. And then, with slow and deliberate movements, Watson shrugs off his outer layer of clothing and unbuttons his shirt. His left shoulder is a crater of old scar tissue. He keeps his chin high.