"You'll forgive me if I'm not up to a third round," Watson murmured.

He shifted, stretching, settling automatically into a position that would not cause undue strain on his bad leg and one that allowed him to lie close to Holmes, an arm draped lazily over him. He reached for the blankets, and pulled them around both of them.

Watson pressed a kiss to Holmes's throat, a very gentle one. "Good night," he said.