"No."
The muffled sound carried from the other room, and Holmes dropped the unused rag as he bolted for the door. In the nearly eight hours since Holmes had returned to the flat, Watson had yet to move. Was he finally waking?
"Watson?"
"No. H'ms! Be'ind!"
Holmes reached the doorway to find Watson turning restlessly on the settee, his eyes closed. Not waking, then.
"'M com'ng," Watson promised, heavily slurring the words. "Jus' a momen' more. Don' let go."
Holmes strode closer. "You are dreaming, Watson."
"'M com'ng," Watson said again, obviously not hearing him. "You know 'm com'ng. Can't…le've me be'ind this t'me."
One hand landed on Watson's shoulder. "You are dreaming," he said firmly. "You are safe and so am I."
Watson's tossing gradually slowed, and his brow furrowed as he processed that.
"'lrigh'?" he asked.
"It was just a dream. We are both fine."
"Hm," Watson replied faintly, relaxing into the cushion. "Good."
He fell back into dreamless sleep, and Holmes resumed his chair. He would remove the rest of his disguise in a while.
Two hours later, Watson still slept peacefully, and the makeup was growing annoying. He tabbed Watson's pulse once more—normal—and gained his feet. He had barely been able to eat and change clothes last time, and the hair oil needed to go. One day was too long for that much oil, and two quickly felt dirty. With no sign of a problem, he should at least be able to wash his hair before he needed to check on his friend once more.
He was halfway to the door when Watson's breathing changed. Rustling sounded from the settee, and Holmes retraced his steps.
"Watson?"
Watson frowned, turning toward Holmes' voice, but he said nothing. His eyes remained closed.
Holmes gently gripped his friend's wrist. His pulse was still the slow beat of sleep, for all that his breathing resembled consciousness.
"Watson, are you awake?" he tried again.
Uneasy frown still faintly visible, Watson worked a hand free of the blanket and blindly groped until he found Holmes' arm. His fingers rested briefly on the pulse point, then squeezed Holmes' hand before latching onto his sleeve. Watson's eyes never opened as his frown faded, and his breathing returned to the deep cycle of sleep a moment later.
Concern and amusement warred for dominance, but Holmes sank back into his chair. Apparently, washing his hair could wait.
Watson released Holmes' sleeve after about an hour, turning to lay so heavily on his right shoulder that he nearly rolled to his stomach, and Holmes decided to try again. The oil was unbearably itchy, and the beginnings of a beard on his chin were quickly becoming another irritant. He hated wearing a disguise for so long.
Filling the bowl from the pump in the kitchen, he checked on Watson then set up in the washroom. He was just about to wet his hair when movement came from the sitting room.
"No! Move!"
"Watson?"
"H'ms! Catch 'er! We're com'ng Mrs. Hu'son!"
Leaving the bowl on the washroom counter, Holmes hurried toward the settee to find Watson thrashing, obviously caught in another nightmare. Despite being tangled in the blanket, he would soon throw himself to the floor if he did not calm, and Holmes lengthen his stride.
"You are dreaming, Watson."
Watson did not hear him, if the sleep-muted fear on his face was any indication. "H'ms! H'ms!" A quiet sob escaped, and he stilled as grief replaced the fear. "No," he muttered, visibly pushing the emotion aside. "Ad'ress that la'er. 'Ave t' reach Mrs. Hu'son. 'M com'ng!"
Watson lunged, and Holmes barely caught him before he hit the ground. He lifted his friend back to the settee, then firmly held his shoulders when Watson tried to sit up.
"You are safe, Watson. Mrs. Hudson and I are, as well."
"No," Watson muttered, fighting him. "No. 'Ave to reach 'er. 'Old on, Mrs. Hu'son! 'M com'ng!"
"It is alright, Watson." Holmes readjusted his hold, putting just enough pressure on Watson's left shoulder to slow his struggling. "Mrs. Hudson is fine. See? She is over there."
Watson turned his head, and relief washed his expression, only to be replaced by deep mourning.
"I am right here," Holmes hurriedly added, remembering Watson's comment a moment before. "I am unhurt. Whatever you saw was not true. You are dreaming."
Watson tried to look toward Holmes' voice, and his brow furrowed. "'Ow'd you get over there?"
He had no idea how to answer that. "Not important. I am fine."
"Sure?"
"Yes, I am sure."
"Hm."
Watson finally stopped fighting Holmes' grip, and his dream changed a moment later. He started twitching, muttering unintelligibly as he turned on the cushion.
Holmes sighed but reclaimed his chair. If this new dream became a nightmare as well, it would be better to stay close. He could put up with an itchy scalp until Watson's sleep had calmed again.
"Hm?" There was a short pause. "No, 'm f'ne. Jus' tired."
The quiet words drifted from the sitting room, and Holmes stepped away from the mirror to find Watson fighting to prop himself on one elbow.
"Watson?" He moved toward the door. He had not even tried to change the water in the basin. Had he run out of time already?
"M f'ne," Watson said again, still trying to sit up. "Quit fussing. Don' know 'ow you can go wi'out sleep, butschu know I can't."
"You are not awake, are you?"
"Know good 'n well 'm not," Watson snapped, blank gaze approximately following Holmes' progress through the sitting room. "Too blast'd early. Oo's doin' that?"
"Doing what?"
"Makin' that noise. Could 'ear a pin drop in this empty tomb til they came along. 'Ow's anyone s'posed to sleep?"
Holmes listened closely. A cab horse trotted down the street. Water dripped in the drains. The fire crackled in the grate. None of those were loud enough to warrant complaint.
"I cannot hear it."
"'Course you can't," Watson grumbled, but he slowly leaned into the cushion. "Prob'ly used to it, but it's stopped now." He released a faint huff of amusement. "Ma'be you scared it 'way."
Holmes felt a smile twitch his mouth. Watson certainly had not intended to voice his thoughts so blatantly—would probably not even remember this when he woke—but he had obviously missed Holmes' presence over the last week and a half.
"Are you going to complain if I return to my room?"
Amusement rapidly changed to disappointment, covered by feigned irritation. "Why d'you need to leave again? You just got back."
"I am not leaving, Watson."
"Jus' said you were. Though'chu hated travel?"
There was no reason to have that argument now. "You know, Watson. If dosing yourself results in this, maybe you should not have done it alone. What would you have done if I had not returned when I did?"
"Prob'ly slept better," came the tart answer. "You the one makin' that racket? Just what're you buildin' in tha' be'room?"
Holmes saw no reason to stifle a barked laugh, moving to stand next to Watson's head.
"Makeup removal is not a loud activity, Watson. You are the one who refused to open the door. You would have enjoyed this disguise."
"Hm. Don' tell me then." Watson paused. "Jus' keep it down, wouldja? Tryin' ta schleep. Too many days…nevermin'."
"Too many days, what?" There was no answer, Watson now restlessly reacting to some other dream, and Holmes shook his head and turned away. The dirty oil was more than irritating.
He did not make it three steps before Watson roused.
"'Old on," Watson grumbled. "Toldja 'm com'ng."
Watson used the cushion to pull himself upright, and Holmes quickly returned to the settee.
"Lie down, Watson."
"Don' need ta lie down," was the protesting reply. "Tol'ja you're not goin' a'one. Le' me go!"
"No." Holmes adjusted his grip on Watson's good shoulder, using his angle to press Watson gently but firmly onto the pillow. "You are sleepwalking far more than usual, Watson. Is there a problem you neglected to mention?"
Watson scowled more at the hand holding him that at Holmes himself. "'M f'ne. Was jus' t'red. Y'know I can' go wi'out schleep."
"Then sleep."
Watson tried again to throw off his hand. "Not if you're goin' a'one. Not doin' that again. Never 'gain."
"I am not going anywhere, Watson, and certainly not alone. Sleep. I will be here when you wake."
"Promise?"
"I am not going anywhere."
"Humph." Watson attempted another scowl, but he slowly resettled. His breathing deepened a minute later.
Holmes sighed but sank into his own chair. Watson should wake soon enough. He could wait another hour or two.
"You are a me'ace."
Watson's comment abruptly broke the silence, and Holmes spun away from the mirror, wet rag in hand. He had fallen asleep in his chair, and when Watson had remained quiet while Holmes cooked and ate a simple breakfast, he had decided to at least remove the makeup. His friend had never moved as Holmes got a fresh bowl of water, and Holmes had taken the water and a rag to the mirror in his bedroom, intending to clean his face and maybe wash his hair before returning to the sitting room.
Watson stood in the doorway, but he pushed himself off the frame when Holmes turned.
"Me'ace," Watson repeated, a scowl evident in the slurred word. "Al'ays movin' around, bouncin' from 'ere to there like a bloomin' rabbit chasin' the next carrot. Can'chu 'old still?"
The morning sunlight streaming through the window hit Watson's face, revealing an unfocused gaze, and Holmes set the wet rag aside.
"I was not aware I needed to," he replied, slowly moving closer. What had Watson said to do when dealing with a sleepwalker that escaped the bed? Wake them?
Watson huffed. "Can't fool me that eas'ly. You know ev'rythin' else."
"Not everything." Or was it play along and lead them back to bed? Yes, that sounded right. "What are you doing up?"
"Searchin'," Watson answered, blatancy leaking into his tone as one hand steadied his faltering steps. "D'tective won't…'old still. Hafta drag 'im outta trouble."
Holmes gently took Watson's arm. "I am not in trouble, but you might be if you do not sit down."
Watson frowned but nodded, leaning more and more heavily on Holmes over the short walk back to the settee.
"'Old still," Watson said again once seated. "No trouble."
"I will stay here," Holmes promised. If Watson insisted on wandering or nightmaring every time Holmes left his chair, he would stay in the sitting room.
"Good." Watson readjusted to lie flat, and his eyes slowly closed. Holmes cast one longing glance at the bedroom before making himself comfortable. If nothing else, the half-removed disguise would provoke an amusing reaction out of Watson when he woke for real.
He would also ensure his friend did not have some other underlying problem. The last time Watson had dosed himself had not resulted in this much sleepwalking.
Seems our favorite pair doesn't need to be awake to find trouble, lol. Hope you enjoyed, and remember reviews are greatly appreciated! :D
MHC1987, is this enough "amiss" for you? A sleepwalking Watson could have found all kinds of trouble if Holmes had not reacted quickly enough :)
