He's terribly close, one hand brushing the coverlet, but he won't let me meet his eyes.
It's been a long night, and seventy-two hours is a long time for the body to go without sleep. All that time spent searching for a hidden criminal, only to come home and have Watson hiding his eyes from me. Intolerable.
I sit up to look him in the eye and my collar falls open a bit, revealing the scratch, long and angry red.
"Holmes, that's infected."
"Not badly."
"Have you been hiding that?"
"How much have we both been hiding?"