Title: Crutch
Summary: Then there were other times, like now, when the pain had been so quick and sharp that he had instantly reached down to grab hold of his thigh and rub at the cramping muscle.
Characters: Holmes, Watson
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Count: ~450

There were times (when it was wet, cold or when he had simply pushed his body beyond its limits) that Watson had to forego their usual, post-case-solving walk home through the often-times dark streets of London, instead hailing a cab. Most times, when he had managed to catch the ache in his leg just before the pain showed on his face, Holmes would hesitate at the entrance to the cab, his eyes skittering along the streets to where Watson knew the Punchbowl was. On those occasions, Watson was bid Holmes goodnight and settle back in the cab and wave his friend off as he sauntered down the street and into a dark alleyway. Those were the nights he waited up, lounging languidly on the settee, just in case Holmes might come home in more pain that Watson was at that moment.

Then there were other times, like now, when the pain had been so quick and sharp that he had instantly reached down to grab hold of his thigh and rub at the cramping muscle. Usually by this point, his cane had clattered loudly to the floor and Holmes was by his side looking on helplessly until Watson was able to inform him that the pain was not quite so bad as he had initially believed. The lie was always ill told but Holmes would always nod, return Watson's cane to him, rush through his explanations to Lestrade and then usher them out into the street. Usually by this point Holmes had extracted Watson's cane and inserted himself under Watson's shoulder to bare the most of his weight.

And if his fingers lingered on his hips as he helped Watson into the cab a little too long, neither of them commented on it. Nor did they comment on the way Holmes would shed his jacket, tossing it gracefully over Watson's lap before positioning himself for the best angle to massage the burning muscle.

By the time they reached Baker Street, some of Watson's muscles would be relaxed while others were in far disrepair.

But Holmes would hop out of the carriage, toss a coin at the driver and then situate himself so that Watson could clamber out of the carriage, pressing down on Holmes' shoulder. The weighty dance would continue up the steps, then the stairwell until Holmes had him situated on the edge of his bed and only after he was sure Watson needed nothing else from him would he depart.

And it was in those times that Watson would smile, knowing that Holmes was as much his crutch as his cane was.