It was good to be able to scrub the makeup off his face; Watson wasn't used to wearing makeup, and he wasn't fond of the way it felt -- never mind the self-consciousness that came of not being able to touch his face for fear of smearing it. He scrubbed, but without a mirror, or light, and with nothing more than water, he had to suspect it was an uneven cleaning job. It would do.

"We wait," Watson repeated. He glanced out the window again, at his doppleganger. He hadn't expected anything else, but it was still a little discouraging to hear. Having to wait for the climactic conclusion after an evening that was already eventful and overwhelming was a little frustrating.

There was some furniture, abandoned and under sheets to protect it from dust; rather gingerly, he sat down, his eyes on Holmes.