Work Text:
Holmes sniffled. “Dear me, Watson, I fear I may be growing ill.”
It had been especially chilly this winter, and Holmes had been outside often, solving cases and looking after the irregulars. I was unsurprised to see him ill, but I worried for my friend. I
llness was always worse for him after his years living in poor conditions, hiding from Moriarty’s comrades, and I hoped to tend to him as well as I could. Certainly, being too cold wouldn’t help him recover his health faster.
I frowned, rising as quickly as I could to retrieve his favorite blanket from the bed where he had left it in the morning. I wrapped it tightly about him, making casual observations of my friend’s state. He was breathing nearly as well as he usually did, and he wasn’t sweating or feverish. But he had grown chillier than usual, and his sniffles had already begun to wet his handkerchief.
Satisfied I had examined him well enough for the moment, I leaned back.
“Watson, I think I would like a hug.” Holmes didn’t ask for hugs often. I immediately obliged, wrapping my arms tightly around the blanket and my best friend.
“Here you are.”