Watson laughed, a bittersweet sort of sound. "To Sherlock Holmes," he said. "Friend, and ally, and... and... and husband." It felt strange to say so aloud, to say so in front of anyone, in front of Lestrade. He flushed a little. "For lack of a better term. A genuinely unique and unexpected man."

He took a long swig of brandy, looking around the room, seeing Holmes everywhere. It seemed a little less crushing, now.

"I don't suppose," Watson said quietly, and without a lot of hope, "that you might ever have need of a police surgeon at the Yard? When I'm not working this practice I plan on getting, of course." It would be good to still be involved in detective work, even in such a small way.