I tried fretfully to find a comfortable position in my own bed as the clock struck nine. Spring colds were deucedly annoying; I couldn't breathe properly and every time I started to drop off, a rasping cough jolted me awake. It always crescendoed until I had to muffle it in my pillow, too.
Groaning under my breath, I looked towards the closed door. The sitting room gas was being turned down, which meant Watson was heading for bed as well. I drew a quick breath but checked my heedless call just in time.
I had been fighting with myself all evening, since the beginning of our after dinner conversation. In the end, I simply couldn't voice my request. It was absurd, so utterly absurd. I stared fiercely at the door, as if that would bring him. But, as I had dreaded, I heard the familiar creaking of him climbing the second flight.
It always made me feel better when he kept watch over my sickbed during long, miserable nights. He did it unbidden when I was very ill, but clearly he knew it was nothing serious tonight. And I would not allow myself to do something so childish as to ask Watson to sit up with me.
I sighed, coughed again and allowed myself to be swallowed by the despairing blackness.
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A/N: Awww... :( Something I believe strongly is that everyone retains this part in them, where they really appreciate being pampered, even if they don't need it for immediate survival. But...some people don't know how to express that when they need it most.
And p.s. I just realized that the wordcounter I've been using is off so…I don't even want to think about it. So I had to find a place to insert ten words, and man it's the thought that counts right??? Ugh…
I also realized I have been forgetting to put a disclaimer thing on my chapters. But I mean…we all know I didn't come up with these ideas, don't we? (I can't say the word characters, it grosses me out.) So yeah, A. Conan Doyle all the way eh?