The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

Stoner and arrange for her to stay with an aunt in Harrow until her nerves were sufficiently recovered from the shock.
    * * * *
    By the time Holmes and I reached our home once more, we were both almost asleep on our feet and it felt like days had passed since we set off for Stoke Moran, rather than mere hours.
    Mrs. Hudson had left a lamp burning low in the sitting-room, and it was by this dim and flickering light that I scrawled a short note to her, explaining that we had returned in the small hours of the morning and would be much obliged if she would leave us undisturbed to catch up on sleep. I tiptoed downstairs to tuck it under the door to her set of rooms, where she would see it in the morning, and then retired to Holmes's room. He had gone ahead of me, after sleepily ascertaining that I would follow to his room and not retreat to my own.
    But when I got there I found his clothes strewn across the floor and the man himself in bed and already asleep. I was not in the least surprised, since the lapse that followed every case was here compounded by the natural after-effects of adrenaline leaving his system.
    He looked so peaceful that my only concern was not to disturb him as I climbed into bed, but even so he rolled over to fling an arm across my torso. Its welcome weight seemed to push me down into sleep as soon as I blew out the candle.
    * * * *
    I awoke when it was only just light outside, and turned over to find that Holmes was still sleeping beside me, his cheeks slightly flushed and one hand curled loosely on the pillow beside him. The shadows beneath his eyes – as well as the fact that he had not stirred at my movement – spoke volumes about his exhaustion, and I slipped out of bed as quietly as a mouse.
    I pulled on a shirt and trousers, throwing a dressing-gown over it all to make myself decent, and went downstairs. Dashing about half the night on only the light supper provided by the inn had left me ravenous, and it was useless to attempt to go back to sleep while my stomach protested.
    Our landlady was also an early riser and, as I had hoped, she was up and about. I humbly begged some tea and toast from her and, while I ate it, stayed long enough to satisfy her curiosity about our night's adventures. When I had finished, I refused her kindly offer to bring breakfast up for Holmes, mentioning that there had been no sign of him when I came down, and repeating that I expected him to sleep clear through until lunch and that he was in sore need of rest. Even so, she put together another tray of tea and toast for me to take up and told me that she would see me later, adding that she was going out to visit a friend for most of that morning.
    I climbed back up the stairs with my tray, thinking eagerly of returning to bed and curling up beside Holmes's sleeping form, but when I entered our sitting-room I found him dozing in his armchair by the fireplace. He had started a small fire in the grate; the morning was a cool one and, on closer inspection, I saw that he was completely bare beneath his dressing-gown. This discovery was enough to make me set down the tray on the nearest flat surface and promptly lock the door behind me, for all that Mrs. Hudson would never have dreamed of disturbing us.
    I crossed the room and reached out to brush the backs of my fingers from his temple to his jaw. His eyelids fluttered, then opened, and the soft, unguarded smile he gave me made my heart flutter in turn.
    "There you are," he murmured, catching my hand and turning it over to press his cheek into my palm. "I woke up, and you were gone."
    Holmes was perfectly capable of snapping to alertness as soon as he woke, and it was a wonderful thing to see. But I must confess that I liked this sort of awakening infinitely more – when he allowed himself to drift, gentle and unfocussed with sleep.
    "I was hungry," I answered quietly. The room was silent apart from the tick of the mantel clock and the crackle of the small fire, and I was unwilling to break the hush. I leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Come back to bed. I brought you some tea and toast."
    "Hmm." He turned his face up to capture my mouth, and his gentle kiss made me smile against his lips. I stroked his skin with the hand that still cradled his face.
    "I'm comfortable here," he sighed, leaning his head into my hand like an over-grown cat.
    I regarded him wryly, telling myself sternly to ignore the way his dressing-gown gaped open to show a triangle of lean,