He knew better than to startle his friend awake. But nor could he simply stand by and watch him suffer, especially when he had unconsciously begged for Holmes to rescue him from somewhere in that disturbed slumber-world.
Usually a hand upon his shoulder was sufficient to repulse the demons, but he apparently had slipped into deeper sleep; for his distress only worsened when Holmes shook him gently. He shuddered away from the contact, his face half-hidden in the pillow he was clutching.
Holmes bit his lip in consternated sadness; for it was not fair for one man to be haunted so, and it was equally unfair for another to be so incapable of comforting.
"Watson," he said softly. "Watson…wake up." He received only a shivering sigh, and moved his hand to rest solidly upon his friend's back. "Come on, old chap…do wake up now."
With a startled gasp he did abruptly, stiffening under Holmes's grip and struggling for a controlled breath.
"Easy, Watson," he hasted to calm, reaching for and securing the icy hand that was not clenching the pillow. "It's all right…you're home now, old fellow."
He had deduced correctly the source of the dream, then, for his words had an immediate calming effect; Watson shivered and then slowly went limp, his face white enough to blend with the bedclothes.