Laughing, Watson pulled the shirt from off his face. "No, I suppose not. We'll get by without being sensible. We usually do."

He draped himself around Holmes's shoulders, kissing him at random, losing himself in adoration for a moment. Finally, he stood, stretching a little. He would be sore in the morning, he suspected. He thought his leg had been strained a little, but he was not going to complain overmuch. He couldn't even say when it had been done. A minor injury, not worth mentioning.

"I really don't want to pick up after ourselves," he said, rather mournfully.