He looks up, surprised, and then at the knife again. It's so Holmes, the way it sits there, and he can see the indentations from where he's stabbed it into the mantle before. It's silly, sentimental; he isn't a sentimental man, not really, and he isn't silly either, but there are things that can make a man into something he's not, if only for a little while. Grief's one of them.

"I... yes, yes I would," he says thickly, and he curls his hand around the handle, holding it for a moment, before he dislodges it. He closes it gently and runs his thumb over it again before he slips it into his pocket. "Thank you." He offers a thin smile and composes himself a bit as he makes his way to his seat again.

"Did he, ah... That is, do you have anything -- ? He left a letter, right?"