When I walked into our lodgings at Baker Street the gas was turned down and the sitting room where we spent so many hours consulting with clients was dark. I almost didn't notice the thin form of Holmes lying on the sofa until I had ventured farther into the room. He hadn't been home when I left for the groceries which had only been an hour or so ago. All of the years of loyal servitude had given me an insight to his habits and I found it slightly peculiar that he would fall asleep so fast.
I put the groceries away as quietly as I could as not to disturb my companion and bustled about in the dark. I knew how exhausted he must have been; he hadn't slept in nearly two days. Eating and sleep were not high on his list of priorities while on a case. He was hot on the case of a particularly sinister criminal lord that ran an opium ring in Liverpool.
After I finished putting everything away, I began to remove my duster when I realized my wallet was missing from my pocket. I tried looking around the floor to see if I had dropped it, but it was impossible to search properly in the darkness of the room. I had no choice but to raise the gas. After I did, I glanced over at my friend to see if I had stirred him. My mouth dropped in silent horror. He still wore his evening attire and his limbs were thrown haphazardly around him as if he collapsed on the spot and hadn't moved since. He had been badly beaten. His right eye was glazed over in what was sure to be a spectacular shiner in the morning and there was crusted blood from his nose and lip. His hair was matted down to his hair as if he had been in a bath but there was a trickle of blood dripping from his scalp.
"Holmes!" He didn't stir when I called. I rushed to his side and examined him. His breathing was regular as was his pulse so he wasn't in immediate danger. I sighed in relief as I rose to grab my medical supplies. That scalp was going to need some stitches and I was the man for it. After all, it was on more than one occasion that I had to sew the world's only Consulting Detective back together again. The case of The Illustrious Client came through my mind as I readied my equipment. So many perils... Sometimes the nature of his obsession made me anxious. How many times could he dance with the most dangerous men in the world before he couldn't be stitched back together again? I knew my dear friend's capabilities better than anyone. I had seen him perform miracles. But I couldn't help the dark looming fear that gripped me whenever we took on a case.
I strode back to him and knelt down beside him. As I threaded the needle my nose detected a strange smell. My brows knitted together as I bent over him to investigate. Powder? I smelled him again and yes! He smelled of a woman's powder. I ran my finger gently along the bruise on his eye and when I withdrew it, it was covered in purple and black powder.
"What the devil..."
The combination of my voice and touch finally broke his slumber. His sharp blue eyes opened and met mine for a moment of semiconscious examination. In an instant he cracked a smile.
"My dear Watson, I've undoubtedly given you a nasty start judging by that surgical needle in your hand. Forgive me, I was so exhausted from my excursions today that I had barely any time to get out of disguise before falling asleep! Isn't it fantastic what you can do with a woman's makeup? I'm surprised there aren't more woman criminals in the world. They have the most discreet disguising kit at the ready with no fear of suspicion!"
I dropped the needle back in the box with an angry yet relieved sigh.