Today's Prompt: Holmes takes up boxing again (from Ennui Enigma).
Note: This ended up a little sadder than I anticipated, but I fear it was inevitable.
"Boxing again? Really Holmes? I thought you were just in London for a meeting. And you are not as young as you once were."
"I am not as fit as I once was either, and I've gotten out of practice. That's why it's necessary."
Watson sighed and shook his head. "I don't like it."
"Nor do I, my dear fellow, but it seems our retirement may be sadly short lived."
Watson frowned, but he reached out for Holmes's bloodied and roughly bandaged hand all the same.
Holmes knelt down in front of Watson's chair by the fire as Watson gingerly took his hand and unwrapped the dirty cloth that passed for a bandage. His knuckles were just a little split, no real damage done unless they got infected from their poor wrappings.
With his other hand, Watson lifted Holmes's chin to examine his face in the lamplight. A dark purple bruise was beginning to bloom on his cheek, but that too was essentially harmless. He didn't doubt he would see more later that evening when they were no longer hidden under his clothes. But Holmes knew better than to conceal any broken bones.
Watson hastily went and retrieved his old medical kit from the other room. He dabbed Holmes's knuckles clean - he heard Holmes take in a sharp breath as the disinfectant touched the open wound - and rewrapped them in a clean white bandage, though they probably didn't really need it.
"What's the word from London?" he asked when he was done, though he did not relinquish Holmes's hand quite yet. "Will there really be war?"
It was Holmes's turn to sigh. "With the continent as it is, it's only a matter of time."
"England has always been a little apart from the continent," Watson attempted.
"Not this time. I'm afraid we're as tied up in treaties as the rest of them. I don't have all the details, mind you, but with aeroplanes at their disposal, the channel doesn't afford us much protection anymore."
"Do you think war will really come to our borders?"
"Probably not the worst of it."
"Then couldn't you stay in retirement? You done your duty to our nation and to all of Europe many times over."
"As have you," Holmes pointed out. "But could you allow a younger man to take your place on the front?"
"Never," Watson admitted. "Not if it comes to that."
"Then let us hope it does not. Mycroft has recommended me for counterintelligence. I will do what I can to keep Europe from the brink, but I fear I am much too late."
Watson squeezed Holmes's hand between his own because it was all he could do.
"Come now," Holmes continued more lightly. "We have a little longer. I believe we have time for a brisk walk along the beach before dinner, if you would condescend to accompany me.
"Certainly," Watson answered, his voice a little rough with emotion. He brushed the damp from his eyes before standing to follow Holmes out the door.