Watson woke to the sound of rain on the roof, the dampness making his wound ache. He sat up and threw the covers off, only to have the not-so-asleep Holmes grab his wrist. "Don't go."
"It's morning."
"We're not in London. You don't have a practice to get up and tend to."
"We'll be back soon, Holmes."
"Don't depress me."
"I didn't mean to."
"You're right, anyway." Holmes sat up. "We'll have come in out of the metaphorical rain, sooner or later. But I'd rather later."
"Yes," conceded Watson, dropping back onto the mattress, "later."
Outside, the rain went on.