[ Life in Asgard is a very absurd thing, but it's a different kind of absurd than he's used to. Talking flowers? Could only happen in Asgard. Or so it feels from his point of view.

This? This seems more like the absurd he's used to. Which ... says a lot about his life.

While he at first stops abruptly in the doorway and stares - gapes, even - by the time she's all settled and has finished talking he's managed to gather himself together. Mostly. A woman he's never seen before, who knows his name, and who carries herself with that air ...

And he left the gun in his jacket. Fuck. ]

I ... wasn't aware I had an appointment.

[ He throws a look out the door. Where is Sherlock? If she's managed to make tea and everything. ]