Sherlock's used to that reaction, and he smirks, pleased that Strange looks so disgusted. Though he'd have to probably buy more air fresheners later if it was that bad.

"It would seem so," the smirk didn't fade. "Though she took me in at the turn of the century...not this century, I mean." He liked getting the horrified reactions when people realized how old he really was. And he didn't like this fellow, and would be pleased if he managed to disgust him so badly that he would leave. 'Taking in' was a slight exaggeration, at least. She saved him, and they had been constant companions since.

He was used to being treated poorly because he was dead, at least, he wasn't exactly welcome anywhere except the Morgue and the Sanctuary, and with other ghosts or vampires. And he wasn't going to let this guy get away with being rude.

"Well, if you don't need my help, I'm waiting for someone too."

He wasn't. He just stood there, crossing his arms--one arm creaking clumsily.