As the Marcuses continued debating among themselves what could have happened and what should be done, Watson swiftly retired to his guestroom upstairs, still greatly upset. He simply was in no condition to put on a brave face to their clients that all would be well despite the disturbing occurrences of the evening.
Where on earth could Holmes be? The case had been going badly enough as it was, without Holmes mysteriously vanishing too. Though Watson faintly suspected that the sudden disappearance might actually be a deliberate ploy by Holmes, Watson nevertheless felt sick inside with the distressing idea that it might just be genuine. He never could become inured to this familiar anxiety.
Watson came to his bedroom and gloomily entered. As he shut the door behind him, a figure appeared from the darkness and caught hold of Watson suddenly.
"Holmes!" he declared, muffled by Holmes's hand over his mouth.
"Hush!" Holmes warned in a whisper. "Yes, it's myself. Don't be alarmed." He released Watson and went to check for any sounds of people beyond the door. There were none.
"Alarmed?" Watson echoed with quiet exasperation. He sighed. "What do you expect when you disappear and reappear like that? Where have you been?" He grasped Holmes close by his slender arms and smelled the scent of the moor upon him.
Holmes murmured assurances coolly. "I apologise. It was necessary to my investigations."
"It's always 'necessary' with you," Watson muttered. "Where have you been?"
"I have no time to explain now. Come, Watson, I need your assistance urgently." Holmes turned, drawing Watson by the arm and heading for the window.
Watson would not follow. "Hold on a moment. Do you know how worried I've been?"
Holmes dismissively shook his head, still pulling. "Later, Watson. We must go now."
"Why?" Watson petulantly resisted.
"To catch the murderer, of course. Bring your pistol."
"No," he stopped Holmes again. "Answer my questions--"
"Watson!" Holmes kept leading toward the window stubbornly.
"Holmes," he persisted, "I won't stand you routinely giving me such scares. You must stop--"
"Please, Watson!" Holmes frowned with distaste, making his way around a dressing-table.
"No!" Watson commanded, firmly halting Holmes and lifting him by the waist onto the tabletop. Watson would clearly be answered.
Holmes was both surprised and silenced by being abruptly seized and planted upon the table in this manner. He blinked and observed Watson's face more clearly by the muted moonlight in the room.
Watson's glare changed somewhat as he still grasped Holmes roughly and blocked him from rising. A strange, moody silence descended, and Watson had a distinct awareness of standing quite close and touching him.
Holmes whispered breathlessly "You ... are stronger than you look."
Watson ran his eyes over Holmes with an odd tension. He murmured back, "You aren't so bulky to lift."
Holmes gazed into his eyes. "I am stronger than I look."
Watson sighed, his hands slowly pressing down Holmes's sides. "Yes. You are."
They paused there for a while, Holmes making no effort to get up nor to withdraw Watson's hands from his body. Watson meanwhile hovered within inches of Holmes's face, seemingly studying his lips with great interest and blinking his eyes in time with Holmes's dark eyelashes.
Holmes finally cleared his throat and looked away, removing the hands that still lingered upon him.
Watson backed up too and turned to get his revolver. "Um, you needed me," he frowned, "for the case?"
Holmes rose, leading Watson toward the window again. "Yes, a trap I've set. I'll tell you as we go there."
They silently sneaked out of the house together through the window and down a trellis, hurrying onwards. When far enough away from the house, they spoke again quietly, but only of the plans and new developments since Holmes's disappearance.
They successfully captured the villain, with some violence, thus ending the case of the Moonlight Moor-dweller. The local police arrived as expected, having been earlier summoned by Holmes on his new-found evidence.
"This is remarkable, Mr. Holmes," the inspector complimented him, "but would you mind explaining how you found him? The note that you sent when summoning us is not, ahem, as detailed as we would like." Police inspectors in London and the countryside alike were clearly learning the subtle ways of confessing, "I honestly don't have a clue of how you solved it, but I need your deductions to fill in my blank police report!"
"Of course, Inspector," the detective answered demurely. Holmes stopped, however, and looked across at Watson, who was somewhat injured and rubbing a soreness in his muscles absently. "But first, do you mind if we get out of the cold night air? Dr. Watson has strained some old wounds of his, and the chill bothers him all the more."
Watson looked up with surprise at Holmes's quietly voiced consideration for him.
Inspector Dalworth nodded. "Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Let us take the cab down to the police station. This way, gentlemen."
They climbed onto the little police cart and silently rode together to the local village.
At the station, the police surgeon helped tend to Watson's bruises, while Holmes gave his report, interrupted by some distracted glances, to the Inspector. Then they were sent back to the house, to wrap the case up with their astonished clients.
Finally, Holmes and Watson packed their things to go and took a morning train back to London. Silent then in the first-class carriage, they each sat utterly worn out by the night, but both restlessly thinking. After a time, due to the persistent rumbling rhythm of the train, they caught some uneasy sleep on the seats, opposite each other.
Returned to 221B and feeling more refreshed, Holmes and Watson settled in at home hours later, but were hesitant to speak to each other over the lunch that Mrs. Hudson set for them. They exchanged hardly a glance or word. Upon finishing their meal, they retired separately to their rooms to unpack, and then remained there.
At last, Watson nervously ventured across to Holmes's room. He knocked at the door, came in, and approached Holmes slowly, despite Holmes's pointed disregard of his presence. Watson spoke, "You were quite chivalrous to me today, about my injuries."
Holmes dismissed the declaration, not looking at Watson too directly. "Nonsense," he shrugged noncommitally. "I have been concerned for your injuries before."
Watson stepped closer to him. "Concerned yes, but cold. Dismissive and undemonstrative. You have occasionally helped treat me in some necessary instances, as I have you, but you always then disregarded my injuries and rapidly focused on the case once more. A business-like and unsentimental rudeness, seeing no use in further acknowledgement."
Holmes shook his head, speaking softly, "I did nothing today. Mere... observation."
"You were chivalrous," he insisted. "You thought of my comfort, though there was no emergency and I was well used to being ignored."
Holmes still did not face Watson. "Hardly worth mention."
"As much worth mention, as worth doing. I practice chivalry regularly with our distressed clients, and with you." He placed his hand on Holmes's shoulder, seeming to feel a tremble at his touch. "I have always been chivalrous to you, though you disliked my attention to your health and comfort. You barely permitted me to be chivalrous at all, and never were chivalrous in return." Watson's voice lowered more tenderly, "You have at times been chivalrous toward some clients. Even attentive to your Baker Street Irregulars. But you have never been chivalrous to me. I never warranted such protectiveness, for you never found me in need of it."
Holmes swallowed, his throat dry. "Perhaps you were in need of it today."
Watson paused, but did not suggest that Holmes was in need of it. He turned Holmes around to him and raised his face, whispering, "What happened at the table--"
Holmes shook his head, backing away. "Nothing happened."
Watson advanced again, refusing the denial. "The ... spark between us," he continued.
"Nothing!" Holmes shut his eyes. "You--caught me off guard."
"Then let me do it again." Watson reached and pulled Holmes quite close to him.
They both became breathless again, intensely aware of their shared body warmth and inevitably drawn to one another's eyes with a burning gaze.
Watson then lightly grasped Holmes's jaw and kissed those well-studied lips meticulously. As Holmes stirred responsively against him, Watson dared another kiss, now sliding his tongue against Holmes's quivering and opening mouth. Watson's fingers followed with a passionate caress down that graceful neck and throat.
They sank into the kiss, into each other, with one shared breath. Breaking off for a moment, Holmes released a sigh, barely audible. "Show me how strong you are." He kissed back more fiercely than ever.