"If it was a gift, why did you not tell me?" Watson demanded. He was completely unable to look at Holmes, and instead merely leaned on the mantle and smoked, feeling progressively miserable. Perhaps he should have dropped the subject entirely. Perhaps he should have come in as he had. Damn it all.

But it still bothered him. He had given up everything for Holmes. He had given up his financial independance, his career, his standing as a doctor, so much just to come live in Baker Street again. While he wanted that, while it was the only choice he could have made, it was not always an easy one. To find everything arranged so that he could give it up all the quicker was disturbing, and he was having a difficult time putting that disturbance into words.

"I feel I've been made a fool of," he muttered.