Upon waking, Watson realised that he was, once again, alone. Naturally, it had to be so. Had he expected differently; to wake beside him, to gaze into his peaceful face, experiencing his morning scent? No. Had he wished for it? Very much so.
The width of the bed seemed infinite, yet the previous night they'd pushed and shoved for space. Where was he now? On a mission, on the move. Last night, he'd been inside of him. Had Watson expected him to remain? No. But he had hoped.
Upon waking, Watson felt numb, for he was alone.
And where was Holmes?