He notes the way he speaks about his daughter, and that moment he takes after. Ah.

Sherlock sounds actually sympathetic when he speaks again. He looks at his own hand closely, at the scales. They seemed in good condition, but he didn't know a thing about what good condition was actually supposed to look like.

"Right. Well...I don't know of anyone, but I'll ask around. Best I can hope for at this point. Assuming the color of the scales, with my limited knowledge of the subject, would blend in far better in a forest than a desert."