Summary: Short scene I had in my head. Mary's haunted by a particularly trying case; she and Holmes are at home, for the moment.

Disclaimer: These belong to Laurie R. King, and I make no profit.

Holmes reached down to pull the covers up to my chin. "I believe sleep is the best thing for you, Russ."

"Oh, honestly, Holmes. I'm fine."

"You're pale. And your eyes have a disturbing quality to them. No," he held out his hand to curb my protest, and his voice had a twinge of pleading in it. "Listen to me for once, Russell.

. . .

"Yes, Russell? I see you're determined to ignore my advice."

"Not ignore, Holmes. I just… can't sleep anymore."

Holmes threw his penetrating gaze on me, lingering over my face, pipe smoke comfortingly curling around his head. With a sigh, he shifted to the right and removed his pipe. "Come sit with me, Russ."

Gratefully I clambered into the small nook he'd allowed for me, feeling slightly like a child who, in the midst of nightmare, seeks out the comfort of her father's lap. Holmes allowed me to settle, and then began twining his fingers through my hair. "You can't turn it off, can you?"

"Beg pardon?" I murmured, immensely distracted by his gentle tugging.

"A case. It worries at your mind –from the moment we begin until we finish."