He shushes, content, warm, hopeful. He closes his eyes and breathe Watson in deeply, and tries to relax through all his relief and exhilaration at being accepted back into this. Perhaps it's unhealthy to consider himself incomplete without Watson, but Holmes isn't a healthy person at the outset. Watson completes him, and it's wonderful to sink into his arms again.

He drifts asleep, and back awake, and asleep again, but none of it is tiresome or exhausting. His sleep is peaceful; he doesn't dream, and then when he wakes, there is Watson beside him, solid and beautiful and real.

When the light comes in through the windows, he lets himself wake fully and simply lies still, breathing, being. He's smiling to himself in the early morning light of what he hopes is their room again, and he feels drunk on it all.