I left our lodging, called for a cabbie and set off for the hospital. There, I acquired a pair of aluminium crutches, some pain medication other than morphine, for I did not want to nurse Holmes's addiction, and some extra large socks, should my friends exposed toes become chilly. I then ventured to the hospital's book shoppe to purchase some texts for Holmes's to occupy himself with. I ended up with three titles, all involving particularly complex and realistic mysteries. I hailed a cart and returned to 221B near six in the evening. I entered and found Holmes, still in the basket chair, now covered in blankets and sweating profusely.

I felt bad for the poor fellow. He would be laid up for weeks, with a break like that. I then began to feel sorry for myself; I would be stuck with his whining for at least a month, if not two. Still, he was my friend, and I his, therefore, it was my job to care for him. I set my packages by the door, relieved Mrs. Hudson, who was reading in the settee, and gently shook Holmes's shoulder. He woke and looked up at me, his eyes full of pain.

"Holmes, I have some medicine for you and I want you to take it. It will make you feel better. He nodded and accepted the two pills. After swallowing them, I walked to the door, retrieved the aluminium crutches and returned to the basket chair. "It's best if you start moving as soon as possible. I know that this is the last thing you want to do right now, but I must insist."

He groaned, but nodded. I demonstrated how to use the things and he then tried it himself. I stayed right behind him, should he fall. With his cast still drying, I did not trust it to cushion his leg should he trip. I managed to relocate him the table and rang for Mrs. Hudson. She entered, cast a pitying eye upon Holmes, and asked what we should like for supper. Holmes said he wasn't hungry, but I said he had to eat something. We bickered for a few moments and eventually decided on ham sandwiches. She obliged and returned within ten minutes.

I ate my food with gusto, while Holmes merely moved his around his plate. I knew that he would not be hungry, but I wanted him to heal as fast as possible, and he was not going to do that on an empty stomach. I finally convinced him to eat a few bites, but eventually, I gave up and helped him hobble back to his favorite chair by the fire.

I showed him the books that I had bought, but he showed little enthusiasm. He then explained "My dear Watson, I am grateful for all that you have done today, but at the moment, I am quite tuckered out. Reading is not high on my 'To Do' list."

I nodded and proceeded to ask if he would like to retire. He thought for a moment, and nodded. I helped him up and together we went to his room. There, I assessed how much pain he was in. I could tell that the pain medicine was beginning to wear off, for he was becoming restless. I decided to give him another shot of morphine, in hopes it would make sleep more bearable. I helped him onto the bed and returned to the sitting room to get the syringe and drug. When I returned, I decided to inject the narcotic into his spine where it would travel to the leg faster. I told him to roll over and hold still. I tapped the syringe to rid it of bubbles, took aim, and jabbed it into his spine. Holmes groaned, but did not shift, so I could release the medicine.

After placing his leg on a pillow, in hopes of decreasing the swelling, I made sure that Holmes was covered and had water within reach. I told him if he should need anything to call, as I would be sleeping on the settee and not to get up without me there. I didn't get a response as Holmes appeared to have dropped off before the blankets had engulfed his tall, thin body. I took the morphine back to the sitting room and made myself comfortable. I grabbed my journal and continued on with the writing of "Silver Blaze," our most recently completed case. After a few hours, I put my pen up for the night and settled into a deep sleep.