"Mm, well," Watson said, considering, "this is entirely possible. But if it's true, is it such a bad thing? Surely you wouldn't begrudge me that luxury."

He was sorry to lose his grip on Holmes's hand, but there were worse things, and he settled back again, smiling to himself. Instead, he trailed his fingers lightly over Holmes's knee. He was not content to sit passively and soak; he needed to touch actively, to remind himself that they were still alive despite everything going on outside, despite monsters and snowstorms, despite pain and misery. They were still alive, and still in love.