A/N: Sorry for the delay in the update, my muse was abducted and I was forced to track the villains around the globe in order to rescue her. Okay, not really. But you got to admit, it sounds better than the truth, which is I had writers block. Anyway, thanks again to my beta, and now I return you to the story already in progress.

"Could you hand me the stethoscope from my bag there by the window, please, Nurse."

"Of course," Jane said, already in motion to do as I asked.

The well-used leather physician bag was not the largest of its kind, but it had several neat pockets, and straps that allowed me to maximize the limited space without weighing it down. It was Holmes actually, that had given it to me shortly after discovering I had resumed civil practice. When I tried to thank him for the gift, he'd waved me off, saying, "It is more practical, with your shoulder the way it is, than that old military one you had with you the other day."

And so, I had carried it ever since. Though I often had to change out items to fit a given situation when I went on rounds, I, again thanks to Holmes, always kept the essentials of a trauma kit inside. Stethoscope, sutures, scalpels, syringes, smelling salts, bandages, and various types of medications were all neatly labeled, to include a reference to the proper dosages of the medications, and systematically laid out in an easy to find manner.

These things, and their position within my bag, I made a point never to change. I'd also forced Holmes, and some of the Yarders with whom we worked on a regular basis, to learn my organization until they knew it by heart. Since my detective friends were not the only ones that could end up getting hurt during a case, it was a precaution I had felt sensible, if perhaps a bit selfish. After all, I didn't want, nor need, whoever might be forced to treat injuries, should I be incapacitated, to be fumbling around searching for things they required.

As Jane turned back almost immediately, stethoscope in hand, I was rewarded with the knowledge that my system worked even for those not indoctrinated into it. I smiled my thanks to the girl, as I took the instrument she held out to me and lightly pressed it to Holmes' chest. I listened to each lung, subconsciously matching my breathing to my friend's as I compared the one to the other, and judged the sound according to what I knew a healthy pair should sound like.

I sighed, taking the device from my ears and absently handing it back to Jane. "Doctor?"

I laughed; I couldn't help it, though I'm sure I was the very picture of a mad man, as I turned to meet the girl's worried eyes. A sudden overwhelming joy had seized my heart, "He is going to be all right."

As much as I tried to tell myself those same words over the last several hours I hadn't been able to fully believe them until now. Holmes' lungs hadn't undergone some miraculous recovery; even Holmes couldn't do everything. But there was a steady, even marked improvement to the quality of his breathing.

I looked over at the cloth Jane had used to wipe Holmes' mouth with, and smiled. The pink discoloration was slight, almost to the point of being not being noticeable if you were not looking for it. And that, blessedly, meant that Holmes was not still bleeding, but expelling the fluid that had gotten trapped earlier. It was one less worry, and I felt some of the weight lift from my shoulders.

"I'm very glad," Jane said, the sound of her voice let me know she was telling the truth. Then she cleared her throat in a delicate, almost embarrassed sort of way. "Is there anything else you need, Doctor?"

"You need to get back to your duties." I said, and Jane nodded. I felt a little of my happiness faultier with her emanate departure, but I shook it off as I walked around to stand beside her.

I took her small but clearly capable hand, and brought her knuckles to my lips. "Thank you for your help."

I watched a light flush appear on her cheeks, as she pulled her hand back. She looked very young for a moment, just before the self-assured Nurse Armitage came back into her green eyes. "I told you, it was an honour, Dr. Watson. Even if it wasn't, I'm a nurse, and taking care of the sick and injured is part of my job. But if you no longer need me, I really must see to the rest of my work."

"Of course," I said moving with her to the door, and opening it for her as a gentleman should.

She bowed her head, acknowledging my actions as she walked out, but then stopped just in the hall and turned around. "I will check on you both later?"

I smiled at the questioning tone of her voice, "It would be our honour."

She returned my smile, before turning and walking down the hall. I watched her walk away for longer than was wholly proper, then, sighing; I closed the door and went back to Holmes. Taking up the cloth Jane had been using, I dipped it into the water basin; rinsing away the blood while absorbing the cool water. Pulling the chair closer to the bed, I sat down and gently ran the damp rag over my friend's warm brow. Fever, infection, recovery; it wasn't a perfect situation, but a manageable one.

I sighed, which was becoming something of a habit at this point, "Now I wish I'd held off on that telegram to your brother. I could have sent him clearer details. Do you think he'll be terribly annoyed that I didn't?"

Holmes breath caught in a little cough, and it almost sounded like his customary bark of a laugh. I shook my head, "You could wake up before he gets here, Holmes, and that way his relief at your substantial improvement would overshadow any annoyance as to his breaking routine."

My suggestion was met with silence, and I shrugged as I rewet the cloth, and continued sponging the sweat from his pale face. I refused to worry too much over the elder Holmes' possible annoyance. Mycroft really wasn't a man I wished to have cross at me, but frankly, I only had enough energy to concern myself with one Holmes at a time.

...

Over the years, I have had many occasions to note the strange phenomenon that is the passing of time. As a boy, time seemed infinite as the days of my summer holiday stretched brilliantly before me. As a fresh young surgeon in Her Majesty's Army, time rushed by in the flashes of muzzle fire and the screams of men I could not save. As a wounded broken man lost in the throngs of London, time was purposeless, dragging painfully from one day to the next.

But then I met Sherlock Holmes, and time had never been the same. In his presence, time was as eternal, as it was brief, as pleasurable, as it could be agonizing, but it was something never to be missed. It seemed somehow inconceivable that we had been friends now for fifteen years. Such a small number could hardly speak to the depth of connection between the two of us, but nor was it large enough to encompass the immensity of everything that we had accomplished together.

Of course, I could only imagine what Mycroft Holmes thought of the time I spent with his brother as he walked in to find me fast asleep, and practically falling from my chair beside his hospital bed. Whatever it was, he made no allusion to it as he shook me by the shoulder and brought me back to awareness. I opened my eyes to see the larger man's face break into a surprisingly warm smile, "Good morning, Dr. Watson."

...