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Forgive me, my dear chapHolmes inched a little closer to his companion on the sofa, but Watson turned his face away.
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“Please, my dear chap,” Holmes murmured, his voice quiet and soft.
Watson shook his head. “Not now, Holmes, not now,” he said hoarsely.
“But, Watson –” the great detective was cut off by his companion jumping swiftly off the sofa and away from him with a bitterer oath than he had ever heard him use before.
“Confound you, Holmes!” he exclaimed, almost in tears. “You of all people should know when it’s best to shut up.”
Holmes swallowed, and moved slowly closer to the only other person he had ever really cared about. He said nothing, but gently placed his pale, gaunt hand on Watson’s thick, ruddy one which rested limply on the mantle.
Watson turned his face towards his friend’s, two small tears trickling down his soft cheeks. “I always knew you were heartless – but this…Holmes…how could y