I had taken a few days holiday by the south coast of England with the acquaintance of the lovely Miss Morstan. It had been her birthday a week previously, and this was my gift to her. She seemed to have enjoyed herself greatly and I was pleased to know so, yet felt somehow that I could not emulate her happiness.

I arrived back at 221B late in the morning, around the lunch hour, when Baker Street was at one of its busiest times in the day and the road was filled with carriages and hansoms of business and personal use alike. When I entered the lodgings I was in a mild fluster for the wheel of a reckless driver had clipped my ankle and consequently set off the reoccurring pain in my leg. Evidently, Holmes noticed this before I had ever entered our lodgings – I opened the door to reveal him sat in his chair with an unfolded paper in front of his eyes, which he did not look away from as he asked, 'Watson, where is your cane?'

'It is in my bedroom. It's no matter; if I take a seat I will no longer have need for it,' said I, removing and hanging up my coat and hat as I spoke, then moving towards my armchair. 'How have you kept, Holmes?'

He ignored my question and instead, after focussing on me with sharp eyes for a moment, declared, 'I hope Miss Morstan feels more content than yourself at the extravagant coastal escape you have taken with her.'

'Holmes! How could you possibly know I was with Mary?'

'Simple. You smell strongly of her cologne, and your right shoulder has a number of blonde hairs upon it. She has leant her head upon you as you sat by her side - in a hansom, for you have splashes dotting the the left sleeve of your coat.'

He paused, apparently savouring my expression which must have just then reflected my emotions clearly – exasperated and impressed both at once.

He continued. 'Additionally, you have sand more heavily imprinted into the sole of one of your boots than the other, suggesting you have walked in one direction along a coastline for some time. Your boots have been recently polished-' He cast a look downwards. '-this morning, but clumsily and without care, showing the polish has been performed by someone of little experience in doing so, or someone employed to give the favour for no cost such as at an expensive hotel, where the service is complimentary but expectedly of low standard. This deduction of your presence in such a hotel is confirmed by the duck feather in your hair behind your ear, owing to the fact that you slept restlessly in your time there and aggravated the luxury pillow which was stuffed with such feathers.'

I reached to my ear and caught hold of a minuscule feather. I twirled it in my fingers, and Holmes watched its movements like a cat would.

'Tea?' I asked, attempting to divert his attentions as I climbed heavily to my feet. I ignored the pain in my leg as much as I ignored his completely correct deductions, hoping that the matter of my recent absence would be left to rest.

'Thank you, Watson.'

As I made tea, I noticed what it was about Holmes that had subtly unsettled me since my arrival. Mr Sherlock Holmes was prone to unconventional behaviour whilst under the influence of under- or over-stimulation to his brilliant mind, but even acting under these extremities, I had never once seen his hair anything but tidy and shining with pomade, nor his jaw unshaven. He displayed both a mess of hair and a greying jawline, and the instinctive conclusion of my own was that something must be terribly wrong. Perhaps he was ill.

'Holmes, are you feeling alright?' I spoke tentatively.

There was a few seconds pause – probably his surprise kept him from answering directly as I very rarely ventured into personal matters with him. 'Quite alright, Watson- although I could ask the same of you. One of your cuffs is undone, your collar is askew and the darkness beneath your eyes indicates great tiredness. You've looked certifiably dishevelled ever since you arrived.'

I continued to pour the tea as he spoke and handed him his before I fastened both cuff and collar more correctly, and sat down to my own drink. 'I assure you Holmes, I am fine.'

He made a 'hmm' noise as he took a sip. The sleeves to his dressing gown shifted as he brought the cup to his lips, and the movement caught my eye. I looked casually to the pale skin of his forearms, and saw a glimpse of faint pinpricks and recent bruising. His face was impassive, and a stranger might have taken his mood to be a serious and withdrawn affair; but his eyes were bright and merry. To my experienced eye, he looked content, which was usually only an emotion drawn to him upon hearing the pleasant harmony of a well-tuned violin, or when under the influence of the dastardly drug he insisted on administering into himself. A quick glance to the mantelpiece confirmed my suspicions. Holmes saw my eyes move.

'These past few days of your absence have brought me tedium and monotony. I have scoured the papers, but-'

'-but you found nothing of interest, and had no visiting clients, so you took it upon yourself to poison your body instead?' I snapped. My temper, which had been unusually agitative since I woke that morning, had risen significantly at this display. 'Whatever next! Will I discover a stray opium pipe on the dining table?'

Abandoning my tea for something stronger, I rose and walked to the sideboard to lean heavily on it and pour myself a whisky from the decanter which rested there. I stood for a few minutes with the wish to calm myself and after draining the glass, I turned back around. Holmes was regarding me levelly.

'Pray tell what has happened whilst you have had Miss Morstan in your company which has made you so distressed,' said he in that smooth and slow tone usually reserved for panicked clients.

'Nothing,' I replied a little brashly, so I followed with, 'Mary is not the cause of my distress. The fair lady has remained, as always, kind, pleasant and endearingly loyal to me.'

'Miss Morstan is an amicable woman, and well-suited to you.'

'Yes. That is entirely true. I only wish I did not feel so much as if it were my duty to accompany her.' I suddenly wished for another whisky, but abstained both from the drink and Holmes' gaze as I tried to settle my temper.

'What do you mean, my dear friend?'

'Oh! Oh! Is this one case that the infamous Mr Sherlock Holmes cannot discover a conclusion to?' I exclaimed haughtily, and immediately regretted my tone. But I could not retract it now, and his eyes narrowed in irritation. He placed his cup onto the table at the side of him, and stood to his feet. He slid his hands into his dressing gown pockets in a relaxed fashion, but his expression was a dark one. I knew I had offended him, and quickly sought to remedy the situation.

'What I mean is- Holmes, she's not you.'

Instantly, Holmes' manner softened. 'Ah,' said he, seemingly and quite unusually unknowing of what to say. I wondered if he'd interpreted the correct meaning of my words- although I was probably insulting his brilliant intelligence to doubt that he had. I had been intending for some time to convey the exact nature of my thoughts and feelings towards him, but had never found myself in the correct situation to do so. Or so I told myself; in truth, I was far too nervous of his reaction to ever try to approach the subject.

And his real reaction was one I had not even contemplated. Striding towards me, he took my arm and led me towards the sofa used by clients. He sat at one end, and implored me to join him. I did not look him in the eye as I perched on the other end, wary of what his intentions were. However Sherlock Holmes is a good man and a loyal friend, and I should have known not to fear him.

'Watson,' he said softly, inclining his head to suggest I sit closer. Despite myself, I moved to sit next to him and felt a tentative arm settle across my shoulders. 'Relax,' his low voice murmured in my ear.

We stayed like that for a few moments, and the comforting weight of his arm helped to soothe my frazzled nerves until I breathed more normally and slumped further against his side, tired from the emotional stress. I could feel his heart beating from where my head rested on his chest.

'Holmes?'

When no comment or reply came to my ears I glanced upwards at my companion. He was staring resolutely ahead, chin held high and that sharp nose as proud as always. From this angle I could see how the short bristles along his jaw also ducked down onto his neck, which constricted slightly as he swallowed. A scent which I had rarely been close enough to smell teased at my senses. I must admit that my friend had never before that moment seemed so appealing to me, and I had to fight back the urge to embrace him warmly.

'Although Mary is a beautiful and desirable woman in many aspects,' I began, faltering a little. 'I don't know if I could ever think of her as I do you, my dear Holmes, even though I have been strongly endeavouring to do so these past few months.'

'Watson,' replied he in that deep, clear voice of his. 'Pray never endeavour to do so again.'

'Whatever do you mean?'

He sighed. 'I would... appreciate your outward emotion henceforth, so that I could reciprocate you freely without fear of causing unintended aggravation due to a certain lack of propriety.'

'Beg pardon?'

'I have been aware of your interest in me for a long while now. I did not mention it, however, as I was unsure that it would have negative consequences.'

I was silent for a few seconds as this new information took root in my mind. Of course I should have known that it was impossible to keep a secret from the finest detective the country had ever produced. Even if he did seem to understand very little about romance and love.

'You assume I know nothing of romantic affairs. I assure you that I do – it is a science which can be observed and understood. And when I see you, my good fellow, my pulse quickens, my temperature increases; I derive some certain pleasure from just attaining your company – and in your absence I long for your return. Even you - someone of significantly lower intelligence than myself – could deduce a conclusion to these responses of mine.'

I sat upright in shock. 'Holmes!' I ejaculated, staring into his enigmatic face with the give-away twinkling eyes.

'Indeed,' was the smug reply, before my companion leaned towards me with open arms and I found myself enveloped in a tight embrace. I returned the favour joyfully. He seemed a little wooden and awkward – but I reminded myself of just how few similar situations my friend had experienced in his lifetime and how little experience he must have. So nevertheless I clutched him with all the weary strength I still retained from such a fraught morning and felt finally content in the knowledge that this man, whom I had grown to care for more than anything in the world, returned my affections and would henceforth stand by my side with more conviction than ever previously.