John hasn't, at a glance, physically moved from where he was sat before -- but a few things have changed. Firstly, he seems to have turned slightly and has a bowl sat in his lap with him. Secondly, the bowl has water tinted red and John has started rinsing his arm a little. Now that he's rinsing it, in a slightly awkward way that speaks of a weak attempt to not be lifting his arm too much, it's easier to see some of the damage. There's a section of skin that looks like it's been skimmed back entirely leaving pink, raw flesh and the largest puncture wounds look deep and round enough that they might have been made by someone plunging a pencil into clay.

John looks up toward the door, studies Ianto for a long moment then drops his eyes to his arm again. He isn't finished, by any means, because he's proceeding very slowly.

"Hey," he answers a little roughly. "Any luck?"