December 5: "A game of cat and mouse" (from KnightFury)

A/N: I'm not sure I really followed the prompt, but for some reason this is where my imagination took it. I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but here it is…

Holmes

In the days following the arrest of Col Moran, Watson grew much more distant with me. Soon an entire week had passed, during which I neither saw nor heard from him at all. I had thought my friend of old would be glad to move back in with me, but it was beginning to appear that he did not even wish to see me.

I hardly knew what to do, and turned to Mrs. Hudson for advice.

"Give him time," she said, pouring me a cup of tea. "His poor heart will need some adjusting to these new circumstances. The man grieved long and hard, and then moved on. And now with you back, well, it will be a difficult transition. You can't expect to chase after him, like a cat after a mouse, and make him come back to you. My best advice is to simply wait a while."

My heart sank a little. I did not want to wait. I only wanted my Watson back.

A week later, my old friend Lestrade called at my rooms, mostly for advice for a case with which he was engaged, but our talk soon drifted to old times and to Watson.

"How is Dr. Watson faring? Have you seen much of him lately?" he asked me.

I was not entirely sure how to answer. "I—I must confess I have not, and I am at my wit's end what to do about it. Mrs. Hudson advised me to give him time, and I am doing my best to do so. But I am beginning to feel as though he does not wish to see me."

Lestrade frowned. "Well, he is probably still adjusting to the change of you, well, having you back. Perhaps you ought to talk to him, gently, of course. Invite him to dinner, maybe. I know Dr. Watson, and I refuse to believe that he wants nothing to do with you. My best advice is to have a frank, but gentle conversation with him. But it will take some time for things to return to any sort of a normal, and if he needs space, you must give it to him."

After thinking about it for several hours after Lestrade left, I decided to take the leap and call upon Watson. But even though I arrived past the Doctor's posted hours, there were still a number of patients waiting for his assistance. I sat in a chair, not too close to any of the ill people, and careful not to touch anything.

A small boy, who I recognized as the younger sibling of one of my Irregulars, wandered up to me and tapped me on the knee. "Tha' you, Mr. 'Olmes?"

"It is indeed," I replied, to anxious to bother forcing a smile.

He gave me a gap-toothed grin. "Cor! I bet the Doctor's really happy you're alive now!"

I shrugged. "Perhaps."

The boy's smile faded. "He's still sad, isn't 'e?"

"Tom! Leave the gentleman alone," said a woman, apparently the boy's mother, rising to bring him back.

"He's quite all right," I said.

"If you're certain," she said dubiously.

The boy gave me a serious look. "You ought ta do something nice for 'im. Doctor Watson, I mean."

"I was thinking of inviting him to dinner," I said.

Tom's little face crinkled in concentration for a moment, then he nodded. "That sounds loike a good idea. Jus' be nice to 'im."

"I intend to," I replied. "Thank you, Tom."

"Yer welcome," he replied, flashing me another grin. "Good to meet you, Mr. 'Olmes."

I waited another hour until Watson had seen to all of his patients.

"Evening, Holmes," he said, obviously exhausted but trying to conceal it. "Are you unwell, or is there a case?"

"Neither," I said slowly. "I suppose this is a social call, more than anything. I—I was wondering if dinner at Simpson's tonight would much averse to you to—I would pay—but I observe you are tired, and if you wish, it can wait unti—"

"Oh, no," Watson interjected. "I would not mind a little dinner. I'm famished, and it is good to see you."

His tone struck me as a little colder than the Watson I was used to.

"Well…I shall meet you there, then. Seven o'clock?"

"Sure," Watson replied.

"Thank you," I said somewhat awkwardly, and made a hasty retreat, my heart in my boots. There was nothing my friend had said that had struck me as strange; it was the distant tone in which he said it. I had spent three years on the Continent while he was in Britain, and yet I never had felt further from him than I did then.

By the time I was waiting for him at five minutes to seven at Simpson's, I was convinced that Mrs. Hudson had been right and I ought to have given him more time to himself rather than chasing him down and cornering him like this.

But it was too late, and we were soon seated at our table by a window, the waiter had taken our orders, and there was nothing left to do but talk.

"So," I began, unsure of where to begin. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Watson replied coldly.

Apparently that was not a good question. Of course not! His pride would not allow him to answer that honestly. How could I have forgotten? I would have to try another approach.

"You seem to be keeping busy," I ventured.

"Yes," Watson replied curtly.

We fell silent again. This was a strange silence, unlike ones I was used to sharing with my friend. In the old days, our silences were not so deucedly uncomfortable!

Our food arrived, and we began our meal. The excellent food did not taste nearly so good as it should have. I resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably in my seat, trying desperately to think of what I could say.

"I am sorry to have troubled you," I said at length. "Perhaps I ought to have waited, but I confess I wished to see you." With an effort, I added, "My dear fellow, I…I have missed you."

There was a long pause. Watson stared down at his barely touched food.

"Holmes," he said at length, "I—I do not wish to offend you, but I must be honest. I am simply not ready to move back in with you."

I was taken aback, struck dumb for the moment. I had not even dreamed of mentioning such a thing! "I completely understand, old fellow. It was not my intention to suggest it."

"Oh. " It was Watson's turn to look surprised. "I thought…" He fell silent and shook his head.

I gave him a questioning glance, wondering what on earth he had been thinking.

Watson flushed red and set down his fork. "It was horribly unjust of me, but I, well, I assumed that you'd invited me to dinner to…request that I move back in with you."

"Of course not!" I said, more than a little hurt. "Of course I would be delighted if you would, but all in your own time. I know…I know I my actions of the past have hurt you deeply, and I can offer no excus—"

Watson waved his hand, brow furrowed. "No, no. There is no need to apologize for that any more, old fellow. But you are sure that you can wait for me to move back in? Your finances—"

"Are sufficient enough to allow you to take any length of time that you need," I assured him.

Watson breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you." He was quiet for a moment, staring down at his food. When he met my eyes again, there was a twinkle in them I had not seen in years. "It is good to see you, my dear fellow."

And with that, I knew I had my dear Watson back.