After a while, Watson felt it was safe to leave Holmes to sleep. The dose he had given him would keep a much larger man under for a good 6-8 hours; he was certain that Holmes would be out for far longer than that, being so thin and exhausted. As it was, within perhaps half an hour of the sedative's administration Holmes was so deeply unconscious that calling his name and shaking him lightly had no effect. Watson felt it was safe enough to leave his friend sleeping whilst he went out for a short while.
He had a brief word with Mrs Hudson on the way out, asking her to keep an eye on Holmes; she nodded and agreed to look in upon him once an hour and keep her ears open for any signs or sounds of him awakening. Thus reassured that Holmes was in good hands, Watson donned his hat and coat, took up his cane and departed for Scotland Yard to discuss the Cessarine Majeste case with Inspector Lestrade.
It seemed Lestrade was expecting him, for Watson was shown straight in to him when he arrived.
"Ah, Dr Watson; I was hoping you'd drop by," he greeted the doctor, waving him to a chair as he settled himself behind his desk. "I trust Mr Holmes is none the worse for his unexpected swim when last I saw him?"
"It is concerning that night I wished to speak with you," replied Watson, pulling off his gloves and setting his hat aside. "Holmes is of the opinion that someone was seeking to kill him that night, and there is more to the case than appears initially from the facts."
"Oh, that Mr Holmes!" exclaimed Lestrade, waving his hand airily. "He theorises and deduces from sheer thin air, that man. I don't doubt he is likely overtired and letting perhaps his imagination get carried away. He accidentally overtook one of the Cessarine Majeste crew, they saw the opportunity to delay him by pushing him in the canal and took it. Where's the mystery in that?"
Watson frowned. "You've never found the results of his methods lacking before," he pointed out.
"Ah, results are one thing, doctor, but these flights of fancy of his..." Lestrade shook his head.
"Are frequently followed by hard, conclusive evidence and the successful conclusion of the case at hand," replied Watson firmly, tapping his walking stick on the floor in emphasis. "Anyway, I didn't come here to dispute your opinion of Holmes' methodology but for your help!"
Lestrade shrugged. "I'm not sure I can be much help in allaying the fears of a paranoid man, Doctor; I would have thought that was more your area of expertise, being a medical man?"
Watson struggled to his feet. "I can see I'm wasting my time here, Inspector," he said stiffly, picking up his gloves and donning his hat. "Good day, sir."
It wasn't until he was some distance from Scotland Yard that it occurred to him to wonder just what Lestrade had wanted to speak to him about; in the moment of anger after hearing Holmes thus disparaged, the matter had slipped his mind. He considered going back to find out, but pride caused him to stiffen his spine and walk on. He considered taking a cab back to Baker Street but decided against it; the walk would do him good and allow his hot temper to simmer back down again.
He had managed to rein it in by the time he reached the corner of Baker Street; indeed, he had almost managed to gain an air of joviality. He'd picked up a couple of ounces of Holmes' favourite shag tobacco to replenish the store in the Persian slipper; maybe it would cheer him up a little. He'd picked up a little bouquet of flowers from a street girl as a token of thanks for Mrs Hudson too. As he approached 221b, he saw Mrs Hudson standing on the steps waving to him. He smiled and waved back to her, hurrying his steps. He paused at the bottom of the steps, extending out the flowers with a smile which fell when he took in her distressed demeanor.
"Oh Dr Watson, I'm so sorry!" she wailed, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. "I tried to stop him but one minute he was there and then he just vanished!"
Watson lowered the flowers, for a minute not understanding. "Vanished, Mrs Hudson?"
"Mr Holmes is gone!"
Watson had quizzed Mrs Hudson most carefully over what had happened. It transpired that she had checked on Holmes twice on the hour after the doctor had left. Both times, Holmes had been deeply asleep, of that she could have sworn. Shortly after her second such check, there had been a parcel at the door for Mr Holmes. After signing for it, she had taken it up to their rooms and thought to just look in on him briefly – only to find his bed empty with no sign of the detective anywhere. The landing window had been ajar.
After quickly checking all rooms, Watson rapidly came to the conclusion that Holmes had left in only the clothes he stood up in – shirt sleeves, trousers, bare feet and nothing else. It was unlikely he should be in any fit state of mind to be out on the streets at all, and he strongly suspected that Holmes would still be heavily affected by the sedative. Quite possibly he might even be sleep-walking, given his state of undress.
The question now remained: where could Holmes have gone?
Poor Mrs Hudson was quite beside herself, sobbing that it was all her fault but she had only left Mr Holmes alone for maybe five minutes and she had been quite certain he had been fast asleep. She had put the parcel on the table just there, turned around to glance in the bedroom – and he was gone. Just like that.
"There, there, Mrs Hudson," said Watson soothingly. "You weren't to know. Who was the parcel from?"
"I have no idea," she replied, her voice quavery with tears. "I just put it down th- Oh! Now isn't that strange, doctor?" she suddenly exclaimed, walking over to the small table where she usually set down the morning tea tray. "I put it down just here – where could it have gone to?"
Before Watson could venture to answer, there was a pounding at the door downstairs. "Oh thank heavens," said Watson, breathing a sigh of relief. "That will be Lestrade and the boys."
And indeed it was. Lestrade strode into the sitting room, Clark at his shoulder with several other boys in blue on the stairs behind. "I got your telegram, doctor," grunted Lestrade as he looked around the room. "Got hisself into trouble then, has Mr Holmes, while you were visiting us down at the Yard?"
"About that-" began Watson, but Lestrade held up a hand to forestall him.
"Not now, Doctor," he said firmly. "First things first. I've got the word out all over to look out for him; Gregson's taking the docks whilst Hopkins is checking out a report of someone possibly matching his description down in Canning Town. I've got boys down at the Punchbowl in case he shows there."
Watson nodded. "I presume you'll leave a couple of lads here?" he asked. When Lestrade nodded, he gestured towards the door. "Then, Inspector, I suggest we take Camden."
"After you, Doctor," agreed Lestrade. "We'll find him, never fear. We may not go in for fancy 'theorising', but what we may lack there we more than make up for in manpower."
Somehow, Watson didn't feel much reassured.
