Tears
Watson had always said that mankind was given tears as a means of releasing sorrow. He never instructed a client—whether it be one consulting him for medical counsel or for the service of their agency—to dry his or her eyes, or that it was unreasonable to shed tears. On the contrary, he had only always offered his own handkerchief, and gently put one strong arm around frightened young women and placed a firm hand on the shoulders of fraught men. Holmes had seen it on dozens of occasions—that expression which assured he had given his full and complete attention, the caring compassion in the expressive blue eyes which gave the poor listener peace of mind, the formidable courage in his gentle words which gave pure hope.
Holmes had always appreciated the fact that Watson was so very good at handling such things, as he knew and accepted that he was not. He had noted that the doctor was especially sympathetic and heartening toward those he knew well—always willing to lend an ear for a peevish Lestrade when his position was threatened, or calm a fuming Mrs. Hudson when another stain or mark decorated the flat.
Based upon that fact, Holmes wondered how his dear friend would have reacted to the way he suddenly buried his face into his palms and sobbed silently into his shirtsleeves.
