Watson looks over at Skulduggery with a bemused expression. Here he is, having a conversation with a living skeleton about an eldritch monstrosity, and the insanity of the situation just seems to hit him all at once. Either he's adapted very well, or he's just completely lost his mind. Maybe both.

"You know, sometimes I hope that the more... magically inclined," he doesn't know how else to put that, "among us would know something more of this than I would. I didn't believe in ghosts, or vampires, or otherworldly creatures. I would have called it impossible. I have seen all sorts of claims to that effect but it has always been mortal agents with mortal weaknesses." Because sometimes Holmes and Watson's adventures are actually just Victorian Scooby Doo. "I can fire a gun, or wrestle a man to the ground, or fight an infection in a patient. I don't know how to deal with," he waves his hand in the Captain's direction, "that."