Watson shut his eyes, drawing in his breath in a small expression of surprise. He hadn't expected this, and wasn't entirely convinced it was necessary, but he let Holmes work, marvelling at the touch on his skin. It was all he could do not to lean into it, to catch up Holmes's hands and find some better use for his fingers, even as irritated with him as he was.

"I'm sure I'm missing some vital part of this plan," he said, quietly because it felt like the sort of moment where softness was mandatory, "but if this Moran fellow is watching to see if you contact me, and he saw a bookseller and myself enter, and a bookseller and yourself leave, won't he guess the truth of it?"

He was clutching the cushions of the sofa under him rather tightly, feeling tense and anxious, angry and glad.