A/N: This is the sentence on which the story is based:

#10 – Drink

One look at the half-conscious figure huddled on the darkest part of the stairs was sufficient to deduce this had been the third patient this week lost in the scarlet fever epidemic ravaging London's children, and that he might be needed tonight for more than just procuring strong coffee and dry clothing.

One look at the half-conscious figure huddled on the darkest part of the stairs was sufficient to deduce this had been the third patient this week lost in the scarlet fever epidemic ravaging London's children, and that I might be needed tonight for more than just procuring strong coffee and dry clothing.

I sighed and sat beside him, tentatively lowering my hand onto his knee and encouraged when he leaned into my touch rather than inching away from it as I half expected him to.

"You mustn't blame yourself, Watson," I ventured. "I'm certain you did everything you could."

"Yes, everything I could…" he muttered bitterly. "It was little enough." After a brief pause, he continued, "…Oh, rationally I know all that and agree with you, and yet…I cannot help feeling that I failed. Have you any idea how galling it is to be a physician and to be unable to do anything?!" His voice cracked. "All the knowledge and skills and experience I spent so much time and effort acquiring--useless, utterly useless. And it's worse when it's a child…it goes against the natural order of things for parents to outlive a child."

I was not certain how to respond to this rather uncharacteristic outburst besides pointing out the obvious. "You are overwrought, Doctor, you need to rest."

"Do you not understand?" he exclaimed. "I cannot rest…Every time I close my eyes, I keep seeing the child's face…and his parents' faces. And if the sanitary conditions were any better, this epidemic would not have reached such proportions in the first place…"

"No doubt," I agreed quietly. "Please come with me," I continued, getting to my feet and extending my hand to him to help him up.

"Why?" he muttered dejectedly.

Not knowing what else to say, I strove to inject a note of levity into the proceedings. "Because I would prefer that you did not tumble off the stairs and break your neck, leaving me to pay the entirety of the rent? And I daresay Mrs. Hudson would also be somewhat put out were such a thing to happen."

I was rewarded with a brief and weary smile as he accepted my extended hand and levered himself to his feet. I drew him after me into the sitting room and gently pushed him into his armchair. It was proof of his exhaustion (if I needed any proof, that is) that he did not put up even a token protest. Picking up my violin, I launched into a rendition of Mendelssohn's Lieder and was glad to see his eyes drift closed only a few minutes later. I threw an afghan over him and retired to my bedroom, leaving the door ajar.