The sitting room offered protection from the chilly rain and snow mix that was descending furiously on London. It was not a day for roaming outside, and yet there was still the clatter of hooves and shouts from the street that indicated that the city still moved, even as the skies darkened with the approach of nightfall.
Within the room, the fire had been stoked to build it up and provide more heat to the immediate vicinity. A coat sat dripping on the floor, hung by the fire to dry it. I had come home a little timid at how he would greet me - or if he'd greet me after our argument the night before. I had left early, not wanting to face him this morning. I had discovered these worries were unfounded though.
After I had come in stiff, soaked, and sore Holmes had promptly ordered me out of my clothing. He had fetched me one of my nightshirts and put me in one of his dressing gowns to be an extra layer of warmth. After he settled me into the chair nearest the fire, he poured me the brandy and stood behind me. At first he had been timid, only gently rubbing with his fingers at my neck. When I offered no protest and instead moved to accommodate his ministrations, he'd also continued to my shoulders. Soon after the shaking had ceased I loosened the dressing gown so he could rub directly on my skin.
The effect was deeply relaxing and at the same time it brought up emotions I could not describe. His kindness and concern was touching, but somehow not unexpected. But at the same time I felt as though I should not expect such behavior from him. How was it fair for him to drop everything to tend to me? I could not deny the pleasure it gave me though, to know that he cared enough to pause in his studies and offer me his attention. The massage was wonderful all on its own, but the time Holmes was taking warmed me more than the fire or the brandy.
"Feeling better?" He whispered, leaning down so he was right next to my right ear.
"Yes, I am almost concerned you found someone to practice your technique on since you're so good." I sent him a smirk as I turned my head to look at him. I smelled the strong scent of his favorite tobacco, familiar and comforting. His hand come over the back of the back of the chair and reached around to my cheek, brushing it ever so gently with his fingertips.
His gray eyes were piercing me as they always did, and in a rush I closed the gap between us. My eyes slid shut as our lips grazed softly. I was suddenly acutely aware of how rough my lips were after the time I had spent cold and wet outdoors. When I shyly tried to pull back, I felt Holmes' hand against the back of my neck. His mouth opened slightly, lightly sucking my bottom lip for a moment which sent a tingling sensation down to my feet. I felt a finger tracing spirals on the back of my neck and I arched my neck back in response to the slight tickling sensation. I would have happily continued, but suddenly Holmes pulled back and held a finger up, silencing my protest. I recognized the look as his indication he had heard something.
I pulled the dressing gown up quickly and grabbed the paper I had been reading. In two long strides Holmes was across the room staring out the window. The distance felt like miles, but it was not long before the reason for our sudden change of position appeared in the form of Mrs. Hudson. She had warmed up a plate of supper for me. Although I appreciated her thoughtfulness, I wanted Holmes near me, not dinner. I sat eating, holding the plate on my lap with one hand, occasionally reaching out to the fire for warmth in between bites.
"You should not have gone out," Holmes said for about the first time since I had returned.
I ignored the remark, not honoring it with yet another explanation of why I had gone out, against his wishes and judgment. This was the same line of conversation that had led to a battle the night before. Holmes might possess one of the wisest and most cunning minds I ever had the privilege to know, but that did not mean I was entirely in agreement with his sentiment. I stretched out my free hand towards the fire again, soaking up as much of the warmth as I could. Then I used it to reach for the glass for brandy sitting on the side table next to me.
Holmes' comment had broken the silence for the first time since Mrs. Hudson had been in the room. He had reclaimed a seat, but was using the settee - the farthest from the roaring fire. I imagined it was rather too warm for his comfort, but when I had advised him he could turn it down he had only needed to send me one look to warn me that he had no intentions of doing anything of the sort.
I yawned, growing suddenly very tired. I set the food down on the side table next to the brandy, getting up slowly. Standing upright proved no problem, however I had been still for far too long and my old wounds prevented my leg from doing what I needed it to when I took a step.
Not for the first time I swore as I threw my hands out to catch myself in my fall. "Watson!" Holmes was up and supporting me in a flash. I ended up with his left arm encircling me from the front while his right hand had grabbed part of the back of the robe to hold onto.
I growled, frustrated with my own lack of mobility. "I'm fine Holmes." I had to be fine. I refused to believe that I wasn't.
"Are you Doctor?" He replied, his tone rather bitter. His emphasis on my title was not lost on me.
"I just need rest -" Another yawn broke through my protest.
His right arm curled around the back of my neck with his hand coming to rest on my brow. "Shall we take bets on your temperature?" He asked.
The reference to my vice brought my temper out even more. Now I had had enough. "Just let me sleep - " This time it was a coughing fit that broke into my sentence unbidden and realized without Holmes' strong arms supporting me I would not be able to stand. The cough left me gasping for air and Holmes twisted ever so delicately to put me into the settee, which was closer.
He quickly passed me a glass which I sipped, trying to get my throat clear. However the coughing had not subsided, and I felt him relieve me of my glass as I pressed a fist against my mouth, trying to stave off the insistent tingle at the back of my throat.
The exhaustion I had felt before seemed to double, and I spent several seconds afterward taking deep, ragged breaths with my eyes closed. I felt him put a hand on my shoulder and I reached for it, clinging tightly.
"Watson I am so sorry - " Holmes' voice sounded scared. It was something unfamiliar to me.
"No, Holmes... You were right," I breathed. "I should not have spoken to you like that."
"What do you need?" Holmes said.
I tried to force my foggy brain to cooperate, but I was finding it difficult not to slip into the beckoning darkness. "Temperature… needs to come down. And rest," I said. As I said it I shivered again violently and another cough interrupted me. This time my chest and bad shoulder felt like someone was stabbing them and I reflexively gripped Holmes' hand tighter.
He knelt in front of me, putting his free hand on my cheek. Only when the coughs dissipated once more did I realize I still had his hand in an iron grip. I released it immediately.
"I'm sorry..." I said. He squeezed my hand gently.
"You owe me no apology," He said, rising and going out of sight for just a moment. He returned a moment later, my thermometer in his hands. It was strange to see the delicate instrument in his long fingers, but I was too tired to even tease him about stealing my job. After several seconds yet he removed it and examined it with a frown.
"How bad?" I said, my throat beginning to make me painfully aware of its own displeasure with the coughing.
"Not too high, one-hundred and one degrees," He replied.
I nodded. "I just need rest." My voice was coming out in barely a whisper.
"You will take my room," Holmes ordered. I thought about climbing the stairs and could think of no reason to argue with him. I knew I was in no condition to make the trek upwards. "Wait a moment while I turn the sheet."
I heard his footsteps retreating into his room for a moment and I waited patiently for his return. When I heard him coming back I finally realized I was going to prove an inconvenience to him.
"Where will you sleep?" I asked, trying to force my eyes to stay open.
"I should think you wouldn't object to me borrowing your bed," Holmes said with a warm smile. "But never mind that, my first concern, my dear Watson, is to you. Can you stand?"
"I think I can manage," I replied, shifting a little to sit up more. One of his strong hands grasped mine and the other slid behind me to help me regain my feet. Once standing, he paused, his eyes fixed on me, waiting for my signal that I was alright. Aside from being dizzy and tired, it was not painful to stand. I timidly shuffled my bad leg forward first, wanting to make sure it would not give out again. Holmes' grip remained tight and unwavering, and I felt sure he'd catch me again without hesitation should I be unable to walk.
The second step was easier, and slowly I managed to make it to the alcove where his door was leading into the sitting room. I've watched him cross the same distance in three great, leaping strides (including using the shortcut of hopping over the settee instead of going around). It was a few more steps from the alcove before I was finally by his bedside.
"Your robe - " I remembered all at once. I moved to pull it down from my shoulders, but he held up a forestalling hand.
"If it is comfortable, leave it," He said.
I had to admit it was. He had rather expensive tastes in clothing that was for his daily use, although I knew the two chests stuffed in the corner behind his bureau were the articles he used as disguise costumes. His favorite items were kept clean and neatly folded or hanging for easy access , but he did not need to show the same care for the disguises, which were usually dirty and threadbare intentionally.
He helped me sit upon the edge of the bed, then gently pulled off the slippers from my feet. His fingers gently started rubbing my left leg where the bullet had pierced nearly four years ago. It had been a very unfortunate shot, made from the hill above me as I bent down in one of the dry ravines to check the carotid pulse of one of our own fallen, and the bullet had broken through my shoulder and stuck in my thigh. At the time, the pain in my shoulder was such that my leg was hardly noticeable. However, I had found upon return to a colder, damper climate as London that the wound could not be soon forgotten.
He had brushed aside the hem of the dressing gown and tenderly massaged the leg, helping to relieve some of the tension. It drew out a sigh of relief from me, and I was too comforted to protest the extra treatment.
Suddenly, a cough seized me again. It was so abrupt I threw out a hand on Holmes' shoulder to help support myself and I felt his hand grab my arm in return. The cough brought tears to my eyes that I could not blink away. After a moment the coughing subsided and I wheezed, trying to catch my breath.
"Let's get you comfortable," Holmes said after my breathing had evened out. "Do you want to be propped up or lay flat?"
"Propped up," I replied, closing my eyes to try to stop the room from spinning. He slowly stood up, and I heard him shuffling the pillows and blankets behind me.
"Here," he said after a moment.
It was hard to focus, but I opened my eyes and realized he was motioning for me to turn back to lay against the pillows he'd stacked to have me at an incline. As I twisted myself to lay back, he put one arm under my legs and gently lifted them, helping me settle into a comfortable position. He put a hand over mine as I laid it on my chest and through half-lidded eyes I saw him give me a comforting half-smile.
"Sleep Watson. I will be here when you wake," Holmes said, drawing up the blankets to my chest. I could do nothing more to fight the urge, and I knew in my head that the rest would do me good.
"You… need rest too," I argued, twisting my wrist to grasp his hand.
"Heal thyself," Holmes whispered, pulling my hand up and brushing a kiss on the back of it.
I soon was deep into slumber, and his gray gaze was the last thing I remembered.
~TBC~