Theirs. It was better not to dwell on that, to think too hard about what was and was not shared between them any longer. He let that pass, if only for the reason that there were more important things to deal with -- more important, even, than the fact that Holmes's hand on his back was far more intimate than their hands clasped together.

It was an effort not to lean into that touch, familiar and missed and precious.

"It's... it's me." Watson was astonished, and he glanced at Holmes, then back to the window. "How did you manage that?"