He's beginning to wonder if they'll ever make it to their room when Watson draws himself away, and he chuckles low in his throat, leaning over to recover his waistcoat. Their life is rather shamefully good in between Holmes's black moments. He's tempted to say that they're too much of a burden on Watson, that he doesn't deserve them, but does Holmes? He isn't inclined to wallow in self-pity at the moment; right now, his relationship with Watson feels like something he deserves, and the black periods are what infringe on what's rightfully his.

It's a cheerful mood to be in.

"You were quite happy to make the mess, if I recall." He smiles slyly over his shoulder and stands, holding the clothes in his hands out to Watson. "Here, you hold. I'll recover."

There are only a few items left, and he picks them up quickly, excited but also a little disappointed about going to bed. He's excited to stretch out with Watson in comfort, to feel Watson fall asleep behind him, but he's a little disappointed because he feels good and sleeping seems like such a waste of time. Oh, he's tired, certainly, and more tired than he's been in days. He's sure to sleep through the night tonight, though he may wake up with the sun. It's a little like Christmas morning sometimes, the first day after a case, especially when he shares a bed with a gift like Watson.

"Can you manage the walk into the bedroom, or shall I carry you too?"