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It had been three days since Watson had seen Sherlock for more than a few minutes at a time.
Sherlock was often prone to bleak moods, typically they were brought on by lack of work, but Watson had also learnt that such periods of sulking could be caused by sickness or injury, and it just so happened that Sherlock was actively recovering from a rather serious gash on his side.
The only chance Watson was given to spend more than a moment or so in Sherlock's company was when he was tending to his wound.
But as he changed dressings and checked healing there was no chance for more sociable interactions. Sherlock would completely ignore any attempt at conversation and would refuse to even look at Watson while he worked.
Watson wished more than ever that he could understand what was happening inside of Sherlock’s head.
It was rather lonely when his flatmate retreated not only into his own quarters but his own mind as well.
Watson supposed he would just have to be patient, in time he knew Sherlock would come back to him…
Although in the meantime he found he couldn’t help but keep up onesided conversations as he tended to Sherlock.
It wasn’t that he wanted to bother the man, it was simply that he found himself made quite nervous by the silence.
So when he walked into Sherlock’s room for his daily check in he said, “Good morning, Holmes. Fine weather, isn’t it?” Although he in no way expected any sort of response, which was lucky because he didn’t get one.
Sherlock didn’t even look up from his book to acknowledge his presence.
“It was a little chilly last night, but it’s downright pleasant today. I may go for a walk in the park after breakfast,” Watson continued as he closed the door behind himself, although in truth he had no plan to leave the flat so long as Sherlock might possibly need help, “Speaking of breakfast, I do believe Mrs. Hudson said she would be making waffles this morning, sounds lovely, doesn’t it?”
He crossed the room over to his flatmate.
Sherlock lay in bed, his robe undone and shirt unbuttoned and pushed aside just enough to give Watson access to the injury, it was the only sign that he was even aware of Watson’s visits.
“This’ll hurt a little,” Watson warned as he began to strip away the layer of old bandage, Sherlock tensed a bit but didn’t make a sound, “There we are,” Watson said as cleared the last of it away, “Well, there's still a bit more blood then I’d like to see, but there’s no sign of infection,” Watson struggled to believe that Sherlock was actually listening to him, but Sherlock commonly appeared to be lost in his own thoughts when he was truly paying very close attention, so Watson kept him updated nonetheless, “If it's still bleeding like this by tonight I may need to put in a few more stitches. But for the time being I’m just going to clean this up a little and put on some fresh bandages,” He said as he prepared a damp towel soaked with alcohol, “This might sting a little,” He said as he carefully scrubbed away the blood, Sherlock gave a very small hiss of pain but stayed put, “Almost done… There,” Very soon the bandages were on and technically Watson had no more reason to stay… He made sure to repack his bag of medical supplies as slowly as possible, “You know, I’ve been terribly lonely all by myself the past few days,” He knew there was no real point in his saying all this, but he couldn’t help himself, “I completely understand if you aren’t in the mood to chat, that’s alright, but I miss just having you around… It feels far too much like I’m living alone.”
Everything was put away, and Watson knew he had to relent and leave, “Well, I’ll be by again tonight to check on the stitches… I hope you have a pleasant afternoon, Holmes. I will be in the living room if you should need me for any reason…” He stood up, and for just a moment he swore that Sherlock was looking at him, but when he glanced back he saw that Sherlock’s eyes were still glued to his book.
Surely it had just been in Watson’s imagination…
He doubted Sherlock had even heard a single word of what he’d said, and it would only hurt him if he let his hopes get too high.
~
It would still be a few hours until Watson had to check in on Sherlock again.
He found he had very little interest in doing much of anything but watching the minutes tick by until he might share time with his silent companion.
Logically he knew there were many better things he could do, but really nothing caught his fancy…
He understood that Sherlock sometimes needed time to himself, but Watson couldn't help worrying that this was all definitive proof that Sherlock didn't trust him.
It seemed like every time the slightest thing happened to Sherlock he would avoid Watson like the plague. It was almost like Sherlock wasn't comfortable enough with Watson enough to allow himself to be in his presence when he was in an even somewhat weakened state…
Watson knew that he and Sherlock hadn’t been living together all that long, but in that time Watson had found himself so enchanted by Sherlock that he had come to put a great deal of faith in the man… He had liked to imagine that the feeling was at least somewhat mutual…
He took a sip of his tea and tried to refocus his attention on the evening paper.
Then he heard the sound of Sherlock’s door open.
Watson supposed he was looking for something to eat or maybe a particular article he'd left lying around.
He still greeted him none the less,
“Good afternoon, Holmes,” He said, looking up at him with a smile.
This time he actually just managed to catch Sherlock averting his gaze from him- Which meant that Sherlock had in fact been looking at him!
He tried not to let himself get too excited, although he still found himself offering,
“Care to join me on the couch?” He knew for a fact that Sherlock would not accept such an offer, but he couldn't help himself.
Sherlock didn't seem to acknowledge him.
Then, without looking at Watson once, he silently crossed the room and took a seat on the far end of the couch from Watson.
Now, Watson recognized that this was a big step, but he also knew that if he reacted too intensely he very well might scare him off, so although he couldn’t help but grin he kept his eyes on his paper and very calmly remarked,
“It's very good to see you outside of your room, Holmes.”
Watson was sure he had over stepped because out of the corner he saw Sherlock start to move.
Watson desperately tried to think of something to say to right his error, but then his train of thought was completely disrupted by Sherlock’s head falling gently into his lap.
At first Watson’s mind insisted that this was some sort of mistake, that Sherlock had simply been tired and wanted to lie down and had made a bit of miscalculation.
But Sherlock didn't move away, instead he stayed put, his hands folded and eyes cast down towards his own chest.
Only then did Watson realize how tense Sherlock was, as if he was waiting to be told this was okay.
Watson set his cup of tea aside and gently started combing his fingers through Sherlock's hair.
Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief and fully relaxed against Watson.
Watson pretended to keep reading his paper although in reality all of his focus was on Sherlock.
The warmth of Sherlock’s body against his felt so reassuring after his days of loneliness.
Sherlock had been in too sorry a state to slick his hair back for the past few days, so it felt pleasantly soft between Watson’s fingers.
Sherlock closed his eyes, seeming to bask in the attention.
“There, isn't this a bit nicer than sulking in your room?” Watson said, his tone light and teasing more than anything.
But to his great surprise Sherlock replied,
“I was not sulking, Dr. Watson,” Sherlock spoke softly, as if his voice had grown weak from lack of use, “I simply did not wish to burden you with my company while I was in such an unpersonable state.”
“My dear Sherlock,” Watson said, his voice mindfully gentle and sweet, “Your company is never a burden and I will always want you near me,” He leaned down to press a quick kiss to Sherlock's forehead, “No matter how unpersonable you might be.”
Sherlock smiled at this; for the first time in days the detective appeared to be quite content.
“You will forgive me then if I do not continue any conversation for the time being, I'm afraid I lack the energy for such an activity- But you, my dear Watson, are welcome to talk as much as you like just so long as you do not expect me to have anything to say in response.”
Only Sherlock Holmes would be so wordy while expressing that he didn't feel up to talking.
“Of course, Holmes. Please, save your energy. I shall not take it as an insult in the slightest,” Watson had been completely truthful earlier when he had told Sherlock that he would be glad to have Sherlock's company even if he didn't say a word, “Let's see what's in the paper today,” Watson remarked, although he already knew exactly what article he was looking for, “What's this? The Thistle Killer’s struck again? I suppose this could be of some interest…” He knew that even when Sherlock didn't have a case or the ability to work on one he loved to learn about any crime he could get his hands on. Without a doubt it was a morbid interest, but it could probably be considered simple research in Sherlock’s line of work.
Yet morbid or not, Sherlock certainly seemed delighted as he listened to Watson read aloud from the latest reports on the killer.
Watson knew it was hardly the sweet domestic moment he would have liked, but it was close enough, and so long as Sherlock was happy then he was too.
Although he had only been alone for a few days, he still felt so overjoyed to have Sherlock back again.
He knew it was probably terribly codependent, but he didn't want to spend even a few days apart from Sherlock ever again…