A/N: More or less a continuation of the last. Continuation of the retirement-ark (#44, #48). And a 221B.


Fall

He had intended it to be a surprise visit. Holmes was always reluctant to ask him to come, although Watson knew well that he had no other visitors, and the loneliness was too much for him, producing black moods even in his retirement.

Sussex was a rest for the doctor also, with the added pleasure of seeing his old friend again.

When the housekeeper informed him that 'the man' had locked himself up in the attic room, Watson climbed the stairs with an old and all-too-familiar feeling of dread.

There was no answer to his knock.

"Holmes? It's me, Watson. Unlock the door, old fellow."

After a moment of silence, the key scraped in the lock and the door creaked open a fraction.

"Watson?"

"Yes. I have come down from London just now. How are the bees?"

"The bees are well." Holmes allowed him to enter, but it was only after he'd made sure that the door was locked that he allowed himself a grimace of pain and rested his forehead against the cold wood.

Watson was at his side in an instant. "I say, are you well?"

Holmes waved his concern aside and limped over to the window to drop back into the chair he had just risen from.

Watson followed him, and lowered his voice to a gentler tone. "Since when are you using a wheelchair?"

"I'm not."

"The ankle should have mended by now, your fall was not that bad."

"It's not the ankle."

"What then? I know you use the chair – there are calluses on your hands that were not there before. Why?"

Holmes smiled. "You are finally using your own deductive abilities. I assume I should be proud, eh?"

"Why, Holmes? As your doctor and your friend, pray, tell me."

"Because, my dear Watson, rheumatism simply doesn't get better."