"You know we've hardly had a chance to talk," he ventured softly, stifling another cough.
They had remained in that position for several minutes, Holmes with his thin fingers absently wrapped around his own, face drawn and pensive; and he closing his eyes and allowing the warmth of present security to drive back the past spectres.
Finally he had felt Holmes shudder, his grip tightening before releasing him, and gently replace his arm under the blanket as the cold rushed in. Holmes pulled the blankets up around him, his hand lingering for the ghost of an instant upon his shoulder, and then he heard the creaking of a chair being sat in close by his head.
For a few more minutes, only the deafening thunder filled the room. Just to make sure Holmes was still there, he opened his eyes to check; he was, sitting in the chair with his elbows on his knees and his chin upon his clasped hands, just watching him.
Holmes blinked in surprise. "I thought you had dropped back off, my dear fellow."
"'M not sleepy yet," he muttered. Repressing a contradictory yawn and crooking an arm behind his head, he offered a faint smile to the obviously disturbed detective. "You look as if you could use a listening ear in addition to a sounding board."