Sherlock Holmes waited in the falling darkness. The wind whipping around him was only growing stronger, and was now to the point he could no longer shield his cigarette with his hand to keep it lit, but he didn't abandon his post. There shouldn't be too long left until his quarry would appear, and so he watched the doorway, wondering if he'd be home in time for supper. He wasn't expected, and hoped he'd be able to surprise his target when he appeared.
He was a bit too successful. He stepped out of the shadows and approached quickly, startling the person he'd been staking out and causing him to stumble backwards. He reached out quickly, grabbing the man's shirtfront and tugging him back to his feet.
"Apologies, Watson," he said. "I didn't intend to frighten you."
"Holmes!" John Watson exclaimed. "What are you doing out in this weather? The storm is about to break."
"I knew you were here; I came to find you. How is your patient?" Holmes asked politely.
"Alive, thank you. It's a case, then?" Watson replied with a sigh.
"No," Holmes assured him. "Just companionship. As you no doubt suspected based on your rain boots and hat, the cabs have ceased to run in anticipation of the storm, and we have a bit of a hike ahead of us. I thought you might appreciate not having to walk home alone tonight. "
"I do appreciate it," Watson said with a smile. "Thank you."
"Oh, and I brought you this."
"Your inverness?"
"My old one. It is much better suited to the weather than your coat."
"Old? Holmes, you were wearing this just yesterday."
"Former, then. I bought a new one today, and so you can have this. There you are, put it on and perhaps Mrs. Hudson will not scold me harshly when we return if she sees I've taken precautions against the weather. Come, let's start for home, and with any luck we will return before the rain starts."
They began to walk, and if Watson noticed that Holmes placed himself in between him and the worst of the wind, he didn't say anything. And when the rain began to pour on them and Holmes used the umbrella he'd brought to cover Watson more than himself, Watson didn't point it out. He simply walked beside his friend and tried not to slip on the sidewalk.
By the time they made it back to Baker Street the rain was falling so hard it was hard to see more than a few feet in front of them, and despite Holmes' precautions they were soaked to the bone. Mrs. Hudson ushered them in fretfully, making them take off their jackets and boots to dry. Sherlock Holmes said nothing, only silently offered his arm to Watson to help him limp up the stairs and aided him, gentle as a seasoned nurse, out of the wet sleeve clinging stubbornly to his bad arm before retreating to change his own wet clothes.
Watson didn't thank him, simply ate dinner with him like always and enjoyed his companionship afterwards as they sat safe and warm in front of the fire. Watson did feel a bit rude to not so much as mention it, but he knew that, for Holmes, to thank him would be to imply that his actions were born out of anything other than genuine friendship, that his kindness was something out of the ordinary. Holmes didn't like being thanked for his good deeds, even though he did like to bask in praise for his genius. Sometimes, Watson wondered why he couldn't just make sense and be normal for once, but also always decided he didn't really want him to be.