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Watson tried to keep his expression neutral as a sharp pain ran through his wing. His wing twitched with the sudden, but not unexpected cramping. It had been several hours since Watson had left Baker Street with Holmes to help him on his investigations and he had not gotten a chance to stretch in that time.
Watson did not like stretching when not home as it was not seen as polite. Wings were to only be displayed when flying and their cases rarely took them into designated flight areas. Even there, it was not necessarily seen as polite as Watson tended not to fly after stretching. His shoulder wing had been heavily damaged in war and had not healed properly and thus, flying could be quite difficult on him.
Watson winced as at the continuous cramping, the pain worsening. He needed to stretch out his wing and massage the muscle. He could not keep his wing folded up for much longer.
“Excuse me,” Watson said to Holmes’ clients, stepping away.
Holmes was outside, looking at footprints before the rain began. Mrs. Lewis had not been pleased by this, as she had come up with a long list of theories she wanted to tell Holmes about. She had reluctantly accepted telling them to Watson instead upon Holmes’ insistence.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Lewis asked with a hint of anger in his voice. “My wife is not done speaking to you.”
“My apologies,” Watson said. “I simply need to step away to stretch my wing out.”
“Inside our home?” Mrs. Lewis asked. “I must say, I am not impressed with you Dr. Watson. I would think a gentleman like you would be more professional.”
“My apologies,” Watson said again, trying to keep his composure as the cramping continued. “I have previously sustained an injury to my wing which is why I need to unfold it.”
The pain would soon be unbearable and Watson knew eventually even stretching would not relieve the pain anymore. He did need to still unfold his wing and tried to slip out of the room to do so. Mr. Lewis moved in front of him, blocking the door.
“It figures that detective you hired keeps a defective doctor with him,” Mr. Lewis said to Mrs. Lewis. He turned to Watson. “That does not permit you to neglect your duties.”
“Your behavior has been quite unacceptable, Dr. Watson,” Mrs. Lewis said, stepping closer to them. “I will not have you opening your crippled wings in my house. Have you no shame?”
The words stung deeply. Watson knew his wings were not pleasant to look at with the scars and missing feathers. He had seen the disgusted looks and heard the whispers plenty of times. He always tried to keep his wings folded in a way that made them look normal. But he could only push through the pain for so long before he had to reveal his true nature.
Holmes had never minded his wings. When Watson had first moved into Baker Street, he had been careful not to reveal the scarring to Holmes. The injuries were fresh then and his wings looked worse than they did now. But Holmes had noticed on his own and insisted he did not mind. Holmes himself unfolded his wings and flew at any moment he deemed convenient.
It was still different when they were out on a case. But this had never happened to Watson before. He had not been cornered about his wings and been forbidden to even unfold them, at least by a client. The pain had worsened and Watson did not know if he could even move his wing at this point. Each cramp sent a sharp pain through his entire wing and it took everything in Watson to remain upright.
“Please, let me leave,” he pleaded with the clients. It was not the proper reply. He should have apologized for his behavior and continued on the task Holmes had assigned to him. But he could not. His vision was blurring at this point as tears had accumulated in his eyes. Watson tried to blink them away and stay composed, but he did not know how much longer he could do so.
“Fine,” Mr. Lewis said, stepping aside. “But I do not want you opening your horrid wings in my home. And if you leave, you should not come back to my house again. This behavior is quite unacceptable and I will not stand for such disrespect in my house.”
Watson managed to nod before practically running out of the room. Tears were starting to run down his face as he made his way out the door. He did not go to Holmes, instead going around the side of the house where no one could see him and practically collapsing on the ground. He huddled up against the wall and unfolded his good wing. He tried to unfold his other wing as well, but it was too painful to move it. He hid himself behind his wing as best as possible before dissolving into sobs. He could not hold back his tears any longer even though crying was worsening his pain.
It was not even the first time he had dealt with something like this. He had dealt with the stares, the whispers, the doubts from patients and clients alike. Watson had always remained professional, not letting it bother him. But this time, he had acted completely inappropriately and lost control over himself. Crying behind his wing outside a client’s house was not acceptable behavior. Watson would not be surprised if Mr. Lewis fired Holmes from the case after this. Holmes would not want Watson coming along to help him after this either and Watson could not blame him. Holmes' cases were important to him and Watson had ruined this one for him.
Watson stiffened when he heard footsteps approach him. He tried to choke back his sobs, but could not stop the tears from continuing to stream down his face.
“Watson,” Holmes’ voice gently spoke from above him.
Watson flinched. He did not want Holmes to find him like this. He wanted to keep hiding behind his wing, but he knew there was no point in doing so. Holmes would be able to easily tell he was crying.
Watson lowered his wing slightly and glanced up at Holmes. Despite Holmes’ gentle voice, his expression was one of anger. Watson flinched again at the sight. He knew Holmes had every right to be angry at him, but it was still difficult to see.
Holmes frowned and knelt down next to him. “Watson, what is wrong?” he asked, his voice still gentle.
“I’m sorry,” Watson managed to say.
“Sorry? What are you sorry for?”
“I ruined your case,” Watson said. “I am sorry, I was disrespectful to your clients.”
Holmes was silent for a minute. “You hurt your wing,” he finally said. “Did they hurt you?”
Watson shook his head. “I could not stretch it out,” Watson said. “It is my fault. I have never worked on making it heal properly.”
“Nonsense, Watson. Your wing was badly injured and has healed as well as it could. You have done nothing wrong. May I see it?” Holmes asked. His tone remained gentle but the anger was still visible on his face.
Watson turned enough so that Holmes could see his wing. He flinched again when he felt Holmes’ hand on his wing even though the touch was gentle. Holmes’ hand retreated quickly and then Holmes stood once again.
“Come, Watson,” he said. Holmes stood and offered a hand to Watson. “We must head home before the rain begins so we can tend to your wing.”
Watson took Holmes’ hand, letting himself be helped up despite his confusion. “But what of your case?” he asked.
“My case is irrelevant,” Holmes said, a hint of anger coming into his voice for the first time. “I have no interest in continuing to pursue it.”
That was odd, but Watson was in too much pain to question it. Holmes dried Watson's face with his handkerchief as Watson had finally stopped crying and let Holmes lead him to the street where they hailed a cab back to Baker Street.
Once they arrived home, Holmes shouted for Mrs. Hudson and requested she heat up water for some hot-water bottles. He then helped Watson upstairs and brought Watson to Holmes’ bedroom.
“Why are we here?” Watson asked, confused, as Holmes helped him sit down on his bed.
“You have injured your wing,” Holmes said as if that explained everything.
Holmes poured a glass of brandy for Watson and Watson sipped at it as he watched Holmes walk around his room, tossing things around and collecting blankets and pillows.
Mrs. Hudson brought in a few hot-water bottles and Holmes took them from her before sending her away. Holmes put most of them down on his bed, but held onto one which he gently held against Watson’s wing, where the worst of the cramping was. The warmth felt nice and Watson felt the muscles already starting to relax.
Holmes held it there for several minutes before speaking. “Do you think you can unfold your wing now?” he asked.
Watson tested it, wincing at the sharp pain at the movement. He could move his wing, but it still hurt.
Holmes murmured some encouraging words and gently massaged the muscle and applied more heat as he coaxed Watson’s wing to unfold. It was a painful process, but eventually Watson managed to straighten it out.
“Excellent, Watson,” Holmes said, gently. He pulled out his handkerchief again and wiped the tears that Watson had not even noticed were running down his face again.
Holmes helped Watson lay down. He used pillows to support Watson’s wing and arranged the hot-water bottles under Watson’s wing for further warmth. Watson spoke once Holmes started piling an excessive amount of blankets on top of him.
“I think that’s quite enough blankets, old man,” Watson said. “I am not chilled.”
“You are shaking,” Holmes said. But he set aside the rest of the blankets and sat on the chair by his bed. Holmes took Watson’s hand in his before speaking again. “What did my clients do to you?”
Watson hesitated. It was selfish of him to do so, to not want to explain what had happened. Holmes deserved to know, but Watson did not want to be kicked out of Holmes’ room after he found out what Watson had done. The way Holmes had cared for him felt nice and he did not want Holmes to be angry with him.
“I am not mad at you,” Holmes said, as if he had read Watson's mind. “You did nothing wrong.”
“You do not know what I did,” Watson said.
Watson exhaled before explaining what had happened to Holmes. How he had wanted to step away, simply to stretch out his wing as it had begun to cramp and how Mr. and Mrs. Lewis had found it rude. The anger was clear on Holmes’ face when Watson finished telling him everything and Watson looked away, unable to tolerate seeing Holmes so angry with him.
“I’m sorry,” Watson said. “I know I ruined your case and it is unforgivable. You probably would like me to leave.”
Watson began trying to sit up, but Holmes stopped him. “I am not mad at you,” Holmes said. “You did not do anything wrong and did not ruin my case. I have no interest in helping such horrible people.”
Watson looked at him in surprise. “They were right though. It is not proper for me to unfold my wings in their home.”
“Nonsense,” Holmes said. “They did not let you leave and injured your wing in the process. It is not proper to injure a guest in your home.”
Watson did not have a response to that. “You do not think I behaved improperly?” he asked.
“You did not. I owe you my deepest apologies for leaving you alone with such horrible people. I should have remained with you,” Holmes said, guilt clear both in his voice and on his face.
“You could not have known what would happen,” Watson said.
Watson had not expected this reaction from Holmes and had not considered the situation from this perspective. Holmes was correct that they had caused Watson pain by refusing to let him leave. And while unfolding his wing was not seen as proper, Watson had simply been trying to relieve his pain. They had been quite rude to Watson as well. Watson had certainly never minded if a client had ever needed to stretch their wings. It seems he had done the proper thing and Mr. and Mrs. Lewis were the ones in the wrong.
Watson was also relieved Holmes was not mad at him. He was still quite shaken up by the entire incident though, especially with his newfound revelation at how he had been treated. Watson thought he always made things difficult with his wing, but Holmes had never seemed to mind and in fact always helped Watson out. Perhaps it was not Watson causing the difficulty.
Holmes gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and Watson let himself relax. His wing still hurt and he knew this encounter would be painful for him to cope with, but at the moment, Watson felt safe and cared for as Holmes remained by his side.