He lets himself be relieved, lets himself believe in Watson because Watson can't lie very well, for one, and for two, he wouldn't lie about such things as this. His fingers are restless, too, and they follow the line of Watson's neck to his collarbone, tracing it with a gentle fingertip.

Oh, dear. This may be a sensitive subject. He revels in Waston's love and gentle touches, very much afraid that in a moment they won't be so readily available.

"I doubt very much that he would have gone through my belongings, as he knew that I would be back for them," he says softly, avoiding Watson's eyes to instead watch his fingertips slide over his skin.