A/N: For VHunter07, may the days look brighter soon.
Watson trudged up the stairs to the rooms he shared, limping with exhaustion. His leg ached, each burning flash running through his leg keeping time with the recurring thought in his mind.
As he opened the door, he noticed that Mrs. Hudson had started a fire earlier, its warmth enveloping him in a cocoon as he entered; attempting to drive the winter's chill and damp away with blazing cheerfulness. He did not feel it; the cold misery wrapped around his heart seemed to freeze any thought of self-comfort or future warmth. It seemed inappropriate to be warm, when the little girl was so cold.
Holmes looked up from where he was sitting. He took in Watson's appearance with a glance and set the newspaper down, reaching for his pipe. Watson's formerly cheerful countenance had dissolved into a blank exhaustion, a haunted look in his eyes. Something had gone wrong while he was out.
"What is wrong, old man?"
Watson shook his head, a wordless plea for privacy in his eyes as he set his black bag down, walking silently up the stairs. Holmes heard the door shut as Watson's footsteps tread the floor a few times before silence fell.
Holmes pondered what to do. The methods that Watson used to try to bring him out of his depressions would not work here. He would have to be careful and use all of his powers of diplomacy and persuasion.
Watson was sitting on his bed as Holmes came up, head in his hands. Holmes knocked softly on the doorframe; Watson did not appear to have noticed that his door was left open. Holmes has tried to make some noise on the way up to warn Watson, but the man didn't appear to have noticed that either.
Holmes cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable.
"Mrs. Hudson has dinner ready. She would like to know if you are coming down."
"I'm not hungry."
"You should try and eat something. She made a cherry tart."
"I was going to turn in early." Watson didn't bother attempting cheerfulness, he knew that Holmes would see through the act.
Holmes nodded, and silence fell again as grey eyes watched the man on the bed.
"Remember last month, when Lestrade was shot in the leg?"
Watson stiffened on the bed. Holmes noted this, and plowed ahead. "Lestrade said it was the fastest he had ever recovered."
Watson sighed. "I've already tried that tactic Holmes. If you are trying to cheer me up, there's nothing you can do. I'll be back to normal soon enough, just leave me be for now." He softened the rebuff with a wan smile. The spark of warmth in his eyes was fleeting, but reassured Holmes nonetheless.
Holmes nodded again. "I'll go let Mrs. Hudson know then." He turned and left.
Once he removed his shoes and changed, Watson stretched out on the bed. He knew he would feel more like his old self as time lent distance between him and his young patient, and tomorrow would be a brighter day.
A short while later, he heard the beginnings of Lieder float up the stairwell.