Work Text:
“’Important’? Yes, that is it, which makes that…’pose’ and the vertical ‘enter’.” Low mutters worked through the clues while trying not to wake up her guest. “’Send’ leads to…’dollar,’ but what could ‘apparent’ reference?”
“Ev’d’nt?”
“No. It starts with ‘s’. What about—” Wait a minute.
Surprise ripped her attention from the puzzle to scan the room. She was alone in the kitchen but for the doctor, and closed eyes confirmed him still asleep. Who had spoken?
The doctor. He readjusted against the wall as a furrowed brow announced him thinking hard.
“S’m’ng’?”
Seeming. Yes, that fit, and effort silenced a laugh as she filled the space. She had not expected him to be better at crosswords asleep than awake.
Though the difference might simply be disinterest. Surrounding clues made the four-letter “past” become “yore,” which made the nine-letter “criticize” end in “-ge.”
She would come back to that one. One across held “notepad.” Two down was “pardon.” Three across…she would skip. Seven down was “elite.” What was—
Polite knocking interrupted the thought, then footsteps carried through the wall. Mrs. Turner’s door swung open the next moment.
“Deck the halls with boughs of holly!”
Enthusiastic caroling launched into full volume and easily carried from the other side of the neighbor’s flat, and John started awake with a thump, followed by a crash as he fell out of the chair. Confusion stared through dazed eyes when she hurried around the table.
“Are you alright?”
He merely looked between her and the rest of the room. For one breath. Then two. His gaze finally cleared just before she would have checked for a head injury.
“’M fine. How—”
“Did you get to the kitchen?” she finished when the word refused to form. One hand steadied him to his feet as he nodded. “You wandered in around fifteen minutes ago and claimed the chair in the corner. Must have stopped in the sitting room on your way down, unless you stole that quilt for your bedroom?” A silent negative still pulled the blanket off the floor, and she continued as he reclaimed his chair. “I intended to let you sleep, but you startled when carolers started next door.”
Carolers that now moved into an…unusual rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas. Half seemed to make up the lyrics as they went along.
“How long—” A flinch cut the question in half, then one hand disappeared under the table. “How long was I asleep?”
“Supper will be ready in about twenty minutes. What did you do to your leg?”
He immediately stopped massaging the scar, though the short “Landed on it” carried more fatigue than pain. He settled back in the chair in a position that suggested the bruise from earlier had made itself known, and she checked on the oven while he fought to wake up.
The front door slammed to make him start yet again, however, then heavy footsteps rapidly thumped up the stairs only to abruptly halt on reaching the sitting room. The doctor’s smirk confirmed he had followed the clues just as she had. Something had excited Mr. Holmes enough to want to share, and disappointment had bloomed on finding the sitting room empty. He might check the kitchen in a minute.
Though only if the doctor did not meet him upstairs. A glance down the hall proved he considered “sleepwalking” back to the sitting room, solely to earn a quiet flat tonight. She would help if he took that route, but the idea faltered when a spasm twitched his foot.
“Do you want me to lure him down here?”
Surprise directed his attention at her, then a tired laugh escaped. “Thank you, but I won’t do that to him.” Another glance contemplated the stairs. “’Tis fun to imagine, though. Perhaps whatever happened today will let him sleep.”
And me as well, though he did not voice the addition. Footsteps sounded on the stairs before she could modify her suggestion.
“Watson?” Mr. Holmes stopped in the doorway, a silent acknowledgement for her though most of his attention rested on his friend.
“Evening, Holmes.” One hand balled the quilt on his lap. “Productive day?”
“Somewhat.” A string of deductions took him a step closer. “Why are you in the kitchen?”
“Probably because it’s not as silent as my bedroom.” A smirk noted Holmes’ scowl though the next question directed at her. “Twenty minutes, you said?”
“Why only probably?” he pressed as she nodded.
“Well, it’s certainly not more comfortable,” the doctor quipped. “Go back upstairs, Holmes. I’ll join you in the sitting room in a few minutes.”
“No.”
She failed to conceal a grin as long strides carried Mr. Holmes around to John’s other side. The doctor should have known better than to think he could hide that from a detective.
“What did you do to your leg?”
Clearly not yet awake enough to spar, only sheer stubbornness prevented John from declaring the table a pillow. “There’s a storm coming in. Why are you in the kitchen?”
“I heard a case from the sitting room.” The doctor’s surprised laugh coaxed a smirk out of his friend, though it disappeared the next moment when another spasm twitched John’s foot. “Did you fall down the stairs?”
“No, I simply don’t want to walk back up yet.”
Something about that made Mr. Holmes pause, and she leaned against the counter to watch him put the clues together. Quilt but no cane. The doctor was clearly tired. That spasm had made him grimace…
“How long have you gone without sleep?”
The doctor’s scowl confirmed the deduction accurate, but his reply started a bickering session instead of the confession Mr. Holmes had wanted. She claimed to the other side of the table to return to her puzzle.
If they continued much longer, John would get his wish to have supper in the kitchen.