Micah Castro Braden // Doctor Watson, I presume (acatalyst) wrote in bellumlogs,
202: Midnight / Closed
He was in his apartment when he changed back. He had gone looking for Mary, but he'd found a mystery instead. A room where images, photographs were developed. It had kept him intrigued long into the night.
When he'd become tired, more in the fashion of his regular age than the age of this new-and-improved version of himself (despite the carryover of ailments), he fell asleep in a chair, his pained leg propped on an ottoman.
He hadn't woken when his cane fell out of his hand, nor had he woken at 12:00, when he slipped dreamily from Watson to Micah. His clothes changed to scrubs, and the cane melted into nothing (along with the mustache), and still he slept on.
His dreams changed too, but he was asleep (of course) and didn't notice. Holmes went from friend to uncertain acquaintance, Irene went from admired to a challenge, Katya went from new to unknown.
In the morning, he would remember everything, but he would think it a dream.