A/N: Thank you so much for all of the reviews and alerts and favorites. I had no idea the story would get so much response!

And to respond to anon: Yes, I did mean "I know". Oops. It's a bit of pet peeve of mine when people abbreviate their writing like that, so thanks for the heads-up.

I remained in my observatory perch for another hour and a half, seeing patients come and go from the consulting room and watching as Watson grew more and more tired-looking.

I was puzzled for the second time at my behavior in the incident. I had intended to pop my head and confirm his health, then return to my case. However, I found myself reluctant to leave. I was not entirely sure Watson would not keel over at any moment. Besides, it was not as if there was a lack of entertainment. The waiting room was full of interesting people to make deductions about. Not to mention watching my friend in his element was more than a little fascinating.

Watson came back into the waiting room once again, looking much the worse for wear. It was only when he stumbled a bit on the way back into the consulting room when a sweeping realization came over me. I hoped he had not contracted the dreadful illness from a patient. Thought I knew little about medicine, I did know scarlet fever was contagious through direct contact with an infected person. Worse still was thought that Watson could have caught it any time during the week and still pressed on with his work and volunteering. He was too stubborn to admit when he himself was ill, even he could diagnose himself capably. It would probably have appealed to his noble spirit to continue helping others despite his health.

I lacked both Watson's noble spirit and lack of regard for his health, however, and began to compile a plan to draw him away from his practice and into a bed before he collapsed. It would be best not to directly confront him, though I would if it came to it, pride or no pride.

For the longest time I could not think of a single thing that would draw away his noble spirit from helping the less fortunate. The perfect idea hit me like a bullet, and I hurriedly began to compose a fake telegraph form conveying the message that I had contracted scarlet fever myself and was desperately in need of Watson's help. It was a rather low blow, but I knew the man would not come for anything less than concern for me. I was near the end of y scrawled message when the slamming of the door so very rudely interrupted my thoughts.

I jerked my head upward and looked towards the door. The entrance was singular in itself compared to the rest of the patients who had all come in very quietly, lacking the strength to blow the door open in such a manner.

The man who entered was not comparable to the other patients in any other ways either. He had not the pale complexion and other symptoms of fever, but sported a bloody nose, blackening eye, and his left arm was dangling most uselessly at his side. I concluded, with my limited medical experience, that it was broken. He was quite the ruffian by all means.

Watson chose this unfortunate time to emerge from his consulting room with another patient. He looked, if anything, worse than the last time; and I dearly hoped I could put my plan into action soon. It seemed the new arrival had other plans, for as soon as he saw the doctor he rushed across the room in an unsteady gait towards him. If it was not clear from the newcomer's stumbling walk that he was intoxicated, his voice proved it without a doubt.

"Eh, you, doctor" He slurred, while swaying unsteadily in front of Watson and his patient. It took no great detective to deduce he had been in a bar fight of sorts recently, which was no little feat as it was barely eleven-thirty in the morning.

"Come and give us a hand, there's a good fellow, eh?" the drunkard said. "And maybe afterwards you kin introduce me to this fine little lady, huh, doctor?'

Watson, chivalrous as always, had stepped protectively in front of the young lady the ruffian had been referring to.

"Come now, Doctor, me arm needs a fixin', and you'll do it fer me!"

Watson eyes had hardened from the normal gentleness they showed for an injured person.

"Sir, I'll be glad to assist you when you sit down and kindly refrain from raising your voice. The most I can do for you now is to clean up your nose and give you a bit of ice for your eye. I'm afraid I have patients who require immediate attention."

Watson had turned around, presumably to get the man a handkerchief and some ice. The drunkard did not sit down, but leapt forward and struck Watson a heavy blow to the back of his head with his good fist. Watson stumbled forward and would have surely fallen if it had not been for the small table in front of him. The girl next to my friend let out a shriek as the ruffian hauled him up. I leapt to my feet and rushed across the rooms, but not before the man had landed a few more blows on my friend. Watson had, despite his obvious dislike of the man, refrained from fighting back, probably for some ridiculous notion that the injured man could not have defended himself.

A few other men had also rushed over to break up the little scuffle, hauling Watson to his feet. He insisted that he was fine, but I could see the blows had done no good to him. I made sure he was a good as he could be, before rounding on the offender, who was being held back by a few more.

"I've naught met a worse doctor than the likes of you, you dirty scumbag!" He shouted in the direction of my friend. I gladly assisted in kicking the odious man out of the building, but unlike the others, I slipped out after him.

I caught up with him quickly. He was stumbling along drunkenly down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace.

I seized his shoulder and swung him round to face me, treating him with my most intimidating glare.

He did shrink a bit upon first seeing it, but set his face in stone and rose up to his full height after a moment.

"What do you want?" He spat, shoving my arm off him roughly.

I sent him disgusted look and shoved back. "I think you ought to learn a lesson about whom you choose to insult. That doctor happens to be a very dear friend of mine, and I do not at all appreciate nor tolerate anyone insulting him," I said icily.

"Well," The man growled, sneering, " Anyone who can't hold their own in a fair fight deserves to be insulted!"

"Punching someone in the back of the head hardly constitutes a fair fight!" I returned, my voice getting louder.

"Care to show me what one is, then? I doubt you or your doctor friend could hold your own against me in-" I cut him off with a well placed blow to the side of his chin that sent him sprawling on the pavement.

"I'll have you know" I growled, "That both the doctor and myself could beat you in a fight with one arm tied behind our back,"

I left him half lying on the street, and strode back to Watson's practice. I could not stand another man insulting Watson, especially in such a vulgar and unjust way.

I began to regret my actions when I re-entered the waiting room to find Watson collecting yet another patient very unsteadily. I walked over to the attendant's desk on the pretense of delivering the message I had composed earlier about my fake illness. The attendant delivered it in turn to Watson, whose eyes grew wide upon reading it. He immediately announced that the practice would be closing for the rest of the day; kindly refer all problems to Dr. Anstruther just next door.

I was a little alarmed at the quickness that he collected his hat and coat and rushed out of the building and into the street. I had to hurry to catch up with him, but was not hard pressed to meet his pace with his now very pronounced limp. Even more alarming was the fact that the man did not call a cab, but continued on foot towards Baker Street. I felt some little joy to know that he valued me so highly as to close down his practice and immediately go to me if I was ill. I was certainly a poor friend if I let him walk all the way to Baker Street under this false pretense in return, and in his condition too.

I did not have to think up a plan to stop him because he started to slow his pace and eventually ended up leaning against a brick wall, rubbing his hand over his eyes wearily. I saw the warning signs and hurried towards him as his knees buckled and he all but collapsed.

I barely had time to reach him and prevent his head from striking the pavement. I lowered him into a sitting position against the wall while he collected himself.

Watson looked up at me shamefacedly. "My thanks to you, sir. I'm afraid I had a little spell of light-headedness there."

I scoffed inwardly. Light-headedness, indeed. I cleared my throat and pulled myself back into character. I had nearly forgotten my disguise in all the excitement.

"It was nothing. May I suggest you call a cab, sir? You look a little peaked."

Watson's face colored as he struggled to stand. I grabbed his elbow and helped him up.

"I'm afraid I don't have any fare. I hadn't anticipated being out today."

So at least the little mystery of his walking was cleared up.

"I shall call one for you, then."

Watson positively bristled at that.

"Oh, sir, I couldn't possibly ask you to do such a thing" he stammered.

"It is only a trifle," I said, waving off his protests. "It is no problem for me, I assure you,"

I stepped forward to call a hansom before he could protest any further. I guided him into the seat and once again waved off his profuse thanks. The man was polite to a fault.

I hoped that he would not have gotten into a cab presented by a stranger in normal circumstances. He had to have at least learned something from me. In the present circumstances, however, I could pardon it on his weakened condition.

Now the only thing remaining was to get back to Baker Street and out of my disguise before Watson arrived there. I wasted no time in calling another hansom and yelling at the cabbie to get there "on the double", waving a large coin for some encouragement.

One more chapter.