Holmes coughs when Moran's weight falls on him; the man went from crushing his throat to crushing his chest, but at least the latter is far less dangerous, and Holmes pushes him aside. He gets to his feet quickly, unwilling to be such an easy target on the floor for much longer, should Moran come to too soon. He's still coughing when straightens, and he rubs absently at his throat, watching Moran, but it seems he's out cold.

He looks to Watson then because it's safe, because he wants to, because he may have just saved Holmes's life and Holmes is breathless (not just from nearly being choked) and his body is thrumming with victory and excitement. And Watson is right there, Watson saved him. There aren't even any bitter or confused feelings in this. He's exhilarated , and he loves Watson, and he wants, instinctually, desperately, to kiss him.

This is victory. This is the three worst years of Holmes's life over.

There is no thought in Holmes's mind, no doubt, as he strides across the short distance between himself and Watson. He lays one hand on his waist and the other against his shoulder, hand fisting in the material, and he pulls Watson against him. He kisses Watson with all the enthusiasm of a man who's just been handed his life back to him -- because that's what just happened, and really, Watson is the life that's been ripped away from him.

Maybe Watson doesn't agree, but there's no room for that in Holmes's mind right now.