The next three drabbles are a sequence. They are also unashamedly and sincerely sappy. It's the season of forgiveness, so may I be absolved.
They are both awake, but neither wants to disturb the other.
It is Christmas Eve. The year is 1895.
In the dark, they have whispered things to each other, quiet, secret things. They are things that could almost be prayers.
Idly, Holmes is wondering whether the Star of Bethlehem guides all of us, or only those who are obedient. But these thoughts are too heavy and cold, and it is the season of warmth and forgiveness.
He decides that obedience is a relative term, and goes back to his bedroom. Perhaps disturbing Watson would not be such a bad idea.