Watson's presence against him is steadying and helps to chase away the dark desire for vengeance, at least for now. He lays his hand against Watson's hair, stroking it tenderly as he undoes his waistcoat and shirt.

"Yes, I'm sure it will." It's annoying, yes, that he couldn't pursue their gunman tonight, but the comforting thing about being himself is that he can be confident he will track the bastard down and make him pay. He's Sherlock Holmes; that's his job.

He pulls away from Watson to work his shirt off, being careful not to jostle him or the bandages too much; he tosses the clothes away and cups Watson's head, drawing him in for a gentle kiss, before he sinks to his knees to untie his shoes.

"If this is our snake assassin, I must detract points from his creativity."