A unlikely trip||Sylar/Watson
Time travel. Boy, how he was really starting to hate this ability. Sitting against the brick wall of a 19th century London building. With a groan and hitting the back of his head on the wall, he let his healing hands drop to the muddy ground in his obviously not of this time nice clothes.
“Freaking. Perfect.” Out in the open on the way to busy streets, but it made it easy to hide the very rapidly healing, bloody wounds all over his face.
“Gladstone! Gladstone, heel! Heel, boy, heel!”
The bulldog yanks his leash out of Watson’s hands and travels through the crowd in such a manner as to remind the doctor of his companion, Sherlock Holmes. By the time he catches up, Gladstone is jumping on and barking at a strangely dressed stranger.
“I beg your pardon, sir, he’s not usually like this.” He grabs the dogs leash and pulls him off the stranger. Able to take a longer look he notices blood on the mans face, and what looks like mud on his hands and backside, "Are you alright?” It looked like the man had run into a spot of trouble, perhaps he had been mugged, after all, his unusual clothes looked both foreign and expensive; they would make him a target. “I’m a doctor, and my home isn’t too far from here, perhaps you’d like to drop by and we can clean you up.”