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Holmes got off the carriage almost as soon as it came to a stop, nearly tripping over the uneven gravel in his rush towards the suspected hideaway where both his landlady and Watson were being kept. The door of the first carriage was torn open, and Holmes quickly gave Mrs. Hudson a look-over to assure himself that she was not injured.
Nothing physically wrong, he notes to himself, and backs off to allow the two sisters to have their much-deserved reunion. From behind him, Mrs. Hudson sounds as though she’s ended up in quite a confused state.
“Take Mrs. Hudson to my carriage,” Something glints from inside of the hansom. “Take great care; she’s been heavily dosed with opium.” He looks down at the handkerchief in his hand, his gaze lingering on the small shards it had picked up before he’s returned to his previous sense of urgency.
The second carriage was very near, but it seemed as if his strides could not be as swift as the situation demanded. In a flash the door was open, and he finally met eyes with Watson again.
Holmes had done well to keep his composure through this case, to make sure he was being as efficient as possible in tracking leads without letting the loss of his companion make itself all too evident. Now, however—seeing his dear doctor in front of him, knowing he would very soon be safe back home after weeks of absence—he let all that fall to the wayside.
The first thing he was met with after opening the carriage door was Watson’s laughter, loud and boisterous and not at all like the chilled quiet Baker Street had been reduced to without him in it. Holmes could feel the relief showing on his face. Watson wrapped his arms around Holmes’ shoulders as he was lifted out of the carriage; when they separated, Watson began to speak.
“You’ve found me,” Watson started. He sounded tired, likely a symptom of the overuse of opium.
“Yes, of course.”
“I knew you would.” His eyes were as blue as anything. Despite the years of intimacy, and even longer having simply known one another, he was still stunned by just how much emotion one man’s eyes could fit into them, like an ocean.
“Of course,” Holmes put one hand on either side of Watson’s face, feeling the familiar coarseness of the man’s beard beneath his palms. Sensing the movement of his every breath between them.
“You’ve been very heavily sedated; we’re going to get you home, and you can have a proper rest.” He cracked a smile at his partner, but Watson seemed…alarmed, almost.
“No, No- the gold! They’re banking the rob—” He bungled his words due to the sedatives. Watson closed his eyes for a brief moment to mentally correct his sentence. “--robbing the Bank of England.”
A pause. “What?”
“They may have done it already.”
“Who?”
“I’m going to fall.”
As if on cue, Watson’s legs gave out beneath him. Holmes caught him reflexively and made an attempt to pass him off to his companions. Watson, though, made a move to remain clinging onto Holmes’ figure, arms draped over the man’s shoulders. They compromised on both Holmes and one of the carriage drivers helping him hobble away so they could return to the safety of their shared home.
Later, Holmes will recount everything that’s happened while Watson was spirited away. He will return his waistcoat buttons, which were so cleverly left behind as a clue only Holmes would know to recognize. Watson will meet the young girl who has fit herself a place in Holmes’ life so quickly. For now, though, Holmes is endlessly grateful that Watson has returned to him, safe and relatively sound.