[He did look like hell, the scratches and blood, the torn gap in his clothes near the right shoulder, overlaying what looks to be a nasty cut, and he was holding his head like a man would while nursing a nasty hangover from cheap swill, for a moment his red-tinged eyes widened at seeing Vivi, his breath catches - or least he made the motions of it.

Soon he had a child clinging to him, crying about as hard as he heard a child cry, it must have been terrifying for the boy, this wretched night, he thought. Slowly, Sherlock kneels, awkwardly, and with extreme delicateness in his movement, he embraces Vivi, somewhat self-conscious that he's cool to the touch - not warm as an embrace should be]