This is a one-shot, sort of the challenge somebody proposed of an argument, but instead of the actual argument, which many people have done already, I've done the morning after such an argument. Oh, and btw, the second paragraph is the overall theme of a book I'm writing, so don't be surprised if you see it elsewhere. Here it is:
We had risen at different times and I had woken before he, laid the table for breakfast [Mrs. Hudson had gone to see her niece in Norfolk, who was getting married and had a coffee. It was too strong -black and bitter- and the taste lingered longer than I had expected. I was waiting for Holmes, and I simply stared out of the window, planning the script for our conversation with witty insults and heavy sarcasm. I knew I wouldn't keep to it. I had forgiven him already and regretted our spat.
Figures of flawless grey bent against the wind, filled with their emptiness. I wondered for a moment, how many people avoided the thing that mattered most to them, just for the sake of some peace and quiet? How many people are out in the storm so they can leave their cold homes? They know they must go back eventually, but they keep going on errand after errand so they can procrastinate a minute longer.
It seemed as though it was still dark, even though the sun had risen.
Holmes walked in, eyed me and then the table. He chewed his lip and was seated.
I sat with him and we looked at each other, silent. Our cutlery scraped deafeningly over the dishes as we ate. I knocked a bowl and flinched, for some reason expecting this to start off another row.
Holmes stopped eating and started to watch me curiously, his look slowing my movements. I could feel him count my mouthfuls.
Outside, the wind howled.
"My dear Watson, are we ever going to talk?" Holmes asked softly, his voice shamed at being the one to break the silence.
"It would seem so." That got him, and he looked at me, dismayed. Our wholesome conversation lulled again into listening to the wind.
"Watson, I am sorry." My lips pressed together and my jaw clamped against the cry I was about to emit. I exhaled before answering.
"I know you are."
"How can I earn your forgiveness?"
"You already have." Holmes leaned forward, mystified yet visibly relieved.
"Then what? What troubles you?"
"My weakness at your apology. I should be much angrier."
Holmes allowed a smile to spread over his face. He was back on his own territory. "Very unlike you to be vengeful, Watson."
"Don't flatter me just yet, Holmes. I shall find some way to punish you."