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Watson had always been a light sleeper. The constant ache in his leg and shoulder had only made him sleep even more lightly, as had the past several months of listening for the panicked screams of his patient. He awoke at the slightest noise, ready to jump into action.

He had heard the violin earlier, low and thoughtful. Mournful, perhaps. Certainly troubled.

So, when the door opened near soundlessly, Watson was only lightly dozing. He rubbed his eyes, then turned towards the door. “Holmes?”

“Ah. Good evening, Watson.” Holmes hovered in the doorway, not coming in. “Forgive me. I did not mean to wake you.”

“Well, I was sort of awake already. My shoulder was being remarkably troublesome, probably because I overdid it a bit moving crates earlier.”

“Perhaps I ought to ask your forgiveness for that, then.”

“No, not at all! Rest assured, I was more than happy to help.” Pain or not, Watson always thoroughly enjoyed investigating any mystery with Holmes. Even one that had involved moving roughly three dozen crates around a warehouse while they searched for a smuggling hideout. “What can I help you with now?”

Holmes stiffened. Watson couldn’t see his expression in the low light coming through the window, but he could certainly see that. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Although Watson very, very much doubted that, he resisted the urge to push. Holmes would often open up to him if allowed to do so by his own free will. Any pressure, however, and all signs of vulnerability would vanish.

“Well, so long as you’re here and I’m awake, would you like to come in for a while?” Wincing, Watson sat up and patted the bed. “I’d be grateful for the company.”

Snorting, Holmes crept into the room. “Very cunning stratagem, Watson.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Holmes snorted again, then slipped under the covers and pressed his shoulder to Watson’s. He was shivering, and the dim light now revealed the tense set of his expression. “Is there anything I can possibly do for your shoulder? I should like to aid you if I can.”

Watson smiled, sure that Holmes would see it despite the low light. “It just needs time. It’ll be all right after some rest.”

“Yes, which I am currently preventing you from experiencing.” Holmes shifted, as if to rise again. “Forgive me.”

“Sherlock.” Aching with worry, Watson caught Holmes’ arm and stilled him. “I want you to stay. Please.”

Letting out a long, heavy sigh, Holmes settled back. The muscles of his arm remained tense under Watson’s hand. “I… I do wish to stay. I feel strange, John.”

“Then please, stay.” There was no chance that Watson could go back to sleep anyway, not when Holmes was struggling. It was not merely the concern of a doctor, but a partner. “If you wish to talk, I will listen.”

Holmes merely sighed again. He did not speak.

It was hard for Watson not to ask, to diagnose. But questions would only make the answers slower in coming. It was better to simply be, to wait.

At last, Holmes folded his hands together and stared at them. “It is somewhat absurd.”

Watson could not help smiling. “After all we have seen, absurdity is certainly relative.”

“I suppose it is. I am at least not running headlong into giant axes or seeing strange, tentacled creatures that speak to me in unearthly languages.” With a shiver, Holmes pressed closer to him. Huddled against him, more like. “Which, in some ways, makes it rather more difficult to consider this a true problem.”

“If it is troubling you, then it’s a problem.”

There was no immediate reply, and Watson had not expected one. But finally, Holmes gave a small shrug. “I fear that I am feeling a little unsettled tonight. This was a straightforward enough case, and perhaps that is the problem. I had expected some strange element to grapple with. Instead, it merely concerned commonplace smugglers.”

Watson gave him a curious look. “Are you disappointed at the lack of Elder Gods?”

Holmes sighed again. “Perhaps somewhat. Which is utterly absurd, given the way such cases unraveled my mind. One would think I should be terrified to encounter those forces again.”

“If you’ll forgive me saying so—”

“I would forgive you anything, Watson.”

The soft, earnest words brought a smile to Watson’s face, even though they were no doubt a distraction. “You are terrified of them. I know how they haunt your dreams. But they were also a challenge, and you thrive on those.”

A quiet chuckle escaped Holmes. “Ah. Yes, my dear fellow, I fear you are correct. And when I do not encounter them on these little cases, it is somewhat disappointing. As well as concerning.”

A mere handful of months ago, Watson would not have dared to presume. But he and Holmes had grown so very close. “You worry that you missed something?”

“Perhaps, yes.” A shiver rippled through Holmes, and he pressed closer. Watson carefully wrapped an arm around him, and pulled the blankets up. “It seems that there are many strange forces at work in this world. What if I miss something vital because I so desperately wish the world to be normal again that I disregard some essential clue?”

“You would not.” That, at least, was a certainty. Watson could not understand many of these strange forces, but he knew and understood Holmes as well as one could. “You are a true logician, committed to seeing the world as it is. You would not ignore the truth.”

“Well. That is something of a comfort, at least.” Still shivering, Holmes found his hand and held it tightly. “I’m sorry to place such worries on you in the middle of the night, John. I fear I was simply struck by a little self doubt.”

“There is no need to be sorry. I’m glad to help.” Teary, Watson leaned over and pressed a kiss to Holmes’ cheek. “And we must expect this. You have been under terrible stress, and it’s still early for you to be resuming work.”

“If ‘terrible stress’ is a euphemism for ‘had an utter breakdown of sanity’, then yes. I suppose it is.” Holmes gave a small smile. “I do feel myself for the most part, at least. Merely somewhat unsettled at the lack of horrible forces at work in the smuggling case.”

“Well, the wine that they were smuggling looked horrible.”

Holmes chuckled at the joke and squeezed Watson’s hand. “Yes, many of the bottles were not properly sealed. I believe would have made little money even had we not intervened in their operation.”

The joke seemed to cost him. He let out another long breath, resting his head on Watson’s shoulder.

“You must be exhausted,” Watson said softly, holding Holmes close. “Have you tried to sleep?”

“I have, yes. But alas, I have not succeeded.” Another series of shivers went through Holmes. “When I close my eyes, I begin to imagine all the things I might have missed, or all that might have happened. There was water at the docks. If I had lost myself to some ritual…”

“I would not have let you fall in, Sherlock.” The mere thought made Watson ill. “Or if I could not stop you, I will always pull you out.”

“Well. That is some comfort, at least.” Holmes snuggled closer, sinking under the blankets. He sniffled, and Watson suspected that he was shedding a few tears of his own. “John?”

“Yes?”

“Would it be terribly inconvenient if I stayed with you tonight?” Holmes tried to speak with his usual light, half-humorous tone, but his voice quavered slightly. “I feel awfully ridiculous for it, but the truth is that I should sleep better with your steadfast company at my side.”

Affection wrenched at Watson’s heart, a sweet sort of pain, and he hugged Holmes close. “I can think of nothing I’d like better, Sherlock. It is my greatest joy to be by your side.”

It seemed there was no further need to discuss it, at least for now. Holmes promptly laid down properly and went to sleep with a speed that Watson could not help envying. His own sleep never came so quickly.

Still, as he settled in beside Holmes, Watson relaxed. His shoulder still ached, and so did his leg. But although nothing but time would ease that, Holmes’ company always helped him too. Whether on cases with or without strange forces, or merely resting in bed, being together was best for both of them.