Chasing Ghosts
Though he tries to suppress it, Watson cannot help but notice the slight chill that runs down Holmes' body, still clothed in his soaking wet garbs.
Without a word, he takes off his black overcoat and hands it to Holmes. A rare contrite expression flashes across Holmes' face, followed by a brief smile and a soft, "Thank you, Watson."
Watson nods in acknowledgment as Holmes eagerly tugs his arms through the black sleeves, stifling a small sneeze while doing so.
The overcoat hangs baggy and loose on his thin frame. He hugs the fabric closer, as if hoping to catch a ghost of Watson's leftover warmth.
There is no lingering presence to be had. His nostrils are greeted only by the smell of laundry detergent, nothing more.