A/n: Set somewhere near the end of the story, "Breaking Society's Rules." I thought it would be nice to have something from Holmes' POV.
I was much too sleepy to open my eyes at the creak of my door, but I listened with a glad heart to his slow footsteps padding to my bedside, and his customary sigh as he settled into the armchair.
He spent so much time in my room it had seemed sensible to have the armchair moved in.
"Hallo, Holmes," he said at last.
Hallo, my dear friend.
"I hope you don't mind that I brought some writing…I had an idea or two and I didn't want to forget them."
No trouble at all, Watson, scratch away.
More comforting sounds met my ears: the snap of his eyeglass case, then the fussy little noises he made when settling them over his nose…and there! The tiny clicks with his tongue as he got his thoughts in order.
He scratched at the paper for some time, then paused. "Holmes, I think I'd like to draw your portrait. My dear fellow!" He laughed. "You may not say as much as before, but that eyebrow of yours has taken over the job. How about I draw the portrait, but don't show it to the public? Good. Hold still now," he teased gently.
After a while of the scratching, I opened my eyes. "Let me see."
He held it up; I smiled at him. "Not bad."