From mrspencil: alone
A continuation of the 12th December. I feel this strayed from the prompt a little, but hopefully this satisfies it. Enjoy, and thank you for reading.
...
After my conversation with Cecil, I feel even more miserable. I look at my clothes, and growl. I swear I was going to kill Holmes when I next see him.
I huddle up on my 'bed' tracing patterns in the moisture on the stone walls in my cell, missing Mrs Hudson's terrific cooking, a warm fire, a comfy bed with sheets and pillows, and as much as I hate to admit it, I do miss Holmes.
He did get me in here, but I wish he would come back.
I drift off into an uneasy sleep, interrupted only by the other inmates snoring, and my own war wounds throbbing up a fit.
"Holmes, please," I plead to the open window. "I wish you'd come back old boy."
All night, I wait for my friend to return and bail me out, but no one comes for me. Is this what it's like to be an abandoned puppy, left alone in a miserable hell, with no concept of abandonment?
...
A gentle hand shakes me awake the next morning, and I swat it away.
"...go 'way, Holmes- just go back to bed..." I mumble.
"How can I, Watson, when we are not at home?"
Suddenly registering my surroundings, I open my eyes, and shoot up- only for my shoulder to start aching again.
"Hey, take it easy old chap," He advises me. His face is still cast in a mask of aloofness, but his eyes betray this façade. Reaching for his coat, he unfastens it and suddenly drapes it round my shoulders as I shakily rise.
"Why, Holmes?" I ask.
"Well, I have no need for it, Watson. I"-
"Not the coat, you fool- why did you leave me here all night?"
"Watson, I owe you more than a hundred apologies for leaving you here. It turned out you had no need to be here."
"You what?" I snap.
"I know you are furious, Watson, but I promise you, I did not know until after I caught the fiend."
It is then that I notice that his clothes are covered in a lot of mud, and a scarlet substance that drains my own from my cheeks.
"It's not mine, Watson." He informs me casually, before putting a hand on my shoulder.
"Listen, I do feel great remorse for your suffering, old fellow. It is no wonder the Underworld curses me and my name, if they must endure such terrible accommodation." He jokes, but I do not smile. I have suffered enough- my clothes are soaked with moisture from both my body and the cell; my stomach is protesting wildly and persistently; my skin is half covered in grime; and my war wounds are being unforgivable.
...
With another case solved, I storm off to have a bath, not saying another word to my friend. I spend longer than usual, getting dirt from my fingernails, and muck from my hands. By the time I had done this, my stomach had quietened a little, although it was still empty. Donning my dressing gown and clean clothes, I take my filthy garments away to be thrown out, as they were only rags from Holmes' disguise closet.
When I arrive for breakfast, my mouth is watering at the sight of sausages sizzling away on the plate, and a cup of freshly brewed coffee awaiting me, and I tuck in greedily.
...
Once my stomach is satisfied, and my body cleaned, I feel much better, despite not having had any sleep- until I realise that my patients are waiting for me. Cursing aloud, I dash round the room, in an attempt to look presentable.
"Watson, what on earth are you doing?"
"I'm late, goddamn it, Holmes! My patients are expecting me this morning!"
"No they wouldn't be, my dear friend. I sent a telegram to your colleague, Anstruther, who is more than happy to see to your patients as well as his own."
"But Holmes, I'm fine!"
"No, you are not. It is a dangerous game to contradict a man of logic such as myself, doctor. I would have thought you had learned that lesson within weeks of moving in. Clearly, I am mistaken."
"But why did you, Holmes? As a doctor, I must see my patients!"
"And as my friend, I must see to your wellbeing. You have not had a singular wink of sleep, my dear boy. Please, stay in our rooms and recuperate from last night's atrocity I left you in."
In the end, I can only agree, for who in the world, despite Mycroft Holmes and Mrs Hudson, can win an argument against my flatmate?
But as I settle to sleep in my quarters, I must admit- Holmes may be a man of limited social capabilities, but he does know when I should and should not be alone.