( If he required verification of the certainty of his words, that telling gaze to an empty chair told him everything he needed. But, unlike Sherlock's reading of people, there was no guesswork involved here. He could've gone as far back as discovering who initially constructed the clock to begin with, if he'd wanted.

Sylar does not flinch away from Sherlock's gaze, as he has no fear of whatever this man might see. He's intrigued, even elated, when he has Sherlock's complete attention. Curiosity finds its match; a challenge posed, and accepted within the silence between them. Try to read me all you want, but know that I will do the same. )

I know how things work. How the pieces should all fit together to paint a perfect image. Plus, it was, a long time ago, my occupation. As you said: not everything is complicated.

( His fingertips glide over the clock's outer rim again; the mistreated piece has been neglected for quite a while. Barely touched by Sherlock, frustrations from John over the dust that accumulated upon it. Mrs. Hudson was the one to notice its timing was off, checking it opposite her own wristwatch, and it was she who purchased tools for it. Sylar smiles and his eyes follow the logical course to a desk nearby. He moves across the room in quick, purposeful strides, opens the drawer, and sighs contentedly. Of course they would still be there, along with the appropriate eyewear. He holds both up for Sherlock to see as he crosses back to the desk. )

Good old Mrs. Hudson. You really do not give her enough credit.