I am no longer sure how long I have been stretched out on this wretched settee. I am intolerably bored! The days are blurring into one and I am tired of being coddled! At least the vomiting has finally ceased and I am able to eat. Not that I feel terribly hungry after going without sustenance for so long.

"Here," Lestrade takes my soup dish and spoon from me. "Let me feed you. You look as if you're falling asleep."

Leave me alone! "I have had enough."

"You need to eat Holmes," she tells me as she loads the spoon. "You won't have the strength to get well otherwise. You wanna get better, don't you?"

What part of 'I have had enough' is so difficult for her to understand?

"Come on Sherlock, you need food. You've been so sick..." she frowns at me for a long moment and then smirks and chuckles quietly. "Here comes the space..."

It takes all of my self control to keep myself from dashing the spoon that the infuriating woman is waving in my face from her fingers! "For God's sake Lestrade!" I wave her hand away and glare at her.

Why am I being subjected to this? Doctor Watson would never have even considered patronising me in such a manner! There were occasions when he felt compelled to remind me that I needed food just as much as the next man and, I recall with a pang of regret, I did cause him a great deal of concern during some of my most trying cases; for they left me quite unable to eat or sleep. All the same, he never would have interfered in such a manner. How I miss him!

"Well, you're the one acting like a little kid," the infernal inspector retorts with a smile. "So I thought maybe I should treat you like one."

Oh, do please go away! I have had more to eat today than I have in an age! Is that not enough? I wave her away again. "I am not hungry! If you would like to cause me to be sick, I would imagine that you are going the right way about it. I have had little to no food for days and I feel unable to manage more than a few mouthfuls at a time."

"OK, I'm sorry. I'll take it away," she sets it aside. "Would you like some water?"

Water? My stomach is behaving itself now; why the dickens would I want water? I shake my head. "I do not like water. It is dull."

"Dull? What d'you mean Holmes?"

Is it not obvious? "It has no flavour; it is dull, boring! I only drink water when I am too ill or thirsty to care."

She huffs with quiet laughter. "So what do you want? Tea?"

Tea would be much better! "If you would be so kind."

Watson shakes his head. "I do not think that you should have tea just yet Holmes. You can have honey water, lemon water and hot honey and lemon drinks for now."

Oh, he has decided to interfere as well now, has he? And why could he not have intervened when I was being subjected to Lestrade's "help"? Hum, at least his list of drinks do have some flavour! I agree readily enough.

Despite my fever having come down to the point that I am able to eat, I have been left weak and tired. I sleep a great deal of the time, much to my disgust, and only seem to awake when I want something. At least Lestrade has managed to find plenty of music that is reasonably enjoyable and there is now a constant loop of soft violin music from my computer. That does seem to help to keep me somewhat soothed and able to rest without the same level of difficulty that I had first had when I had fallen ill.

"Attishoo!" I groan and open my eyes. The room is dark apart from the light from the fireplace.

"Aw Sherlock," Lestrade's voice whispers from my armchair. "I've lost count of the number of times you've sneezed yourself awake now! How're you feeling?"

Half asleep! "Give me a moment," I request with a yawn. It is not that I particularly want to give her a list of my remaining symptoms; I am more concerned about what I may let slip while I am still waking up. Ah! But I do feel better! The fever is clearly still with me and it is a little higher than it was during the day, for I am feeling cold again, but my brain is much clearer. I smile. "I feel... stronger."

"You sound stronger," she returns cheerfully.

Excellent! I stand up experimentally. Ha ha! I am still a little weak and I can feel myself trembling, but that is nothing! I can stand without feeling faint and that is a vast improvement!

Then my body begins its protests. I am not entirely sure how much I have drank today or when I last visited the lavatory, but my body is informing me that the answer is a simple one: far too much and not nearly recently enough. I detest illness with a passion! My usually easy to control body seems to rebel in the most unpleasant of ways! "Excuse me, would you?"

"I think you should take it easy Holmes."

Thank you my dear, but I do not agree. I feel I have suffered rather enough indignity for an eternity! "I am not going far and I shall not be long," I inform her as I do my utmost to keep myself still.

"D'you need any help?"

Observe the evidence before you! I impatiently step from one foot to the other. I am terribly uncomfortable! "I can assure you that I shan't. Would you kindly excuse me?" I set my steps in the direction of the washroom as quickly as I can without making my discomfort any worse. Truly I hate this miserable illness with a passion!

When I return to the settee, Lestrade seems somewhat concerned. It is most likely due to the manner in which I am shivering.

"I am all right; merely fagged."

"Your fever's getting worse," she notes with a frown. "You really don't want to use up too much energy; you went too long without eating to have much to spare."

And what the devil does that mean? I am not in the habit of wasting energy! Does she honestly think that I have merely decided that I should like to walk to the bathroom and back for the fun of it? Really Lestrade, do use your brain!

All the same I cannot deny that she is right regarding using up energy with ease. I am all but spent, and just from walking a few paces to the washroom! It is completely ridiculous! "All the same, I am much better than I was," I say at last.

"Yes," she smiles at me. "You're out of danger now. You just need to take it slowly and be careful not to make yourself worse. 'Flu is nasty Holmes. Dangerous too. Especially if you don't have a resistance against the strain you catch."

I have heard all this before from Watson. Dull, dull, dull! I yawn loudly.

"I know. I can see that you're tired," she makes me comfortable on the settee and stares down at me for a long moment. "You'd better drink something before you go back to sleep. That fever is gonna dry you out before daybreak otherwise, if it gets much higher," she shakes her head and sighs. "I really think you should've stayed on the couch. I would've left the room; you know that!"

Oh, do give it a rest Lestrade! I am no longer too ill to leave the settee without help and I am most certainly not going to use a receptacle if I have no reason to do so. "I am quite all right. As for a drink, lemon water would be fine." She will have to slice the lemon and squeeze some of the juice into the water. That takes longer than merely adding a spoonful of honey to a glass of water and it will give me more time to myself.

She huffs. "Right, OK. See that you stay awake until I get back then."

I nod and settle back quietly. I listen to her tread on the stairs. Then I stand up and sit at my desk to pause the music and get up the news reports. I wonder what interesting cases I have missed!

"Sherlock!" Lestrade sets my drink down on my desk with a tremendous bang that makes me flinch. I clearly had been too wrapped up in the report to hear her returning.

Ow! My head throbs in protest. "You splashed me with that," I inform her quietly.

"Too bad! Zed! You are supposed to be resting, not watching the news!" she grabs hold of me. "Come on! Back to the couch, you stubborn zedding idiot!"

"You could charm the birds from the trees my dear."

"Don't make me any madder than I already am Holmes! I've been helping Watson to take care of you for four zedding days and I'm not gonna watch you make yourself sick again! Lie down. Now."

I am shoved roughly onto the settee. What a nice 'carer' Watson has chosen for me! "I am bored! Bored, bored, bored!"

She folds her arms and glares at me. "Yeah, and whining about it is gonna get you zed. Zed, zed, zed! The more you rest, the sooner you can get off the couch and back to work. OK? Have your drink and go to zedding sleep Holmes."

"My drink is on my desk."

Lestrade growls. "I'll just get it for you."

I brace myself, expecting her to throw it in my face. Her back is stiff and straight, her fists are clenched and she obviously said that through her teeth.

"Here," she shoves my glass into my hand. "Drink up and go to sleep."

I set the drink down hastily.

"Holmes! I am not kidding!"

I raise a finger and pull my handkerchief from my dressing gown pocket. "Atchoo! Eeeeishoo!"

"Oh," she comes to my side and gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Sorry Sherlock. D'you feel OK?"

I nod and blow my nose. "I feel better than I have in days."

She sighs tiredly. "Which is why you're complaining about being bored as zed now. Well, you'll just have to be patient."

"Pah!" I am not a patient man, as I am sure Watson's journals have informed her. In fact, I am almost as impatient as she is! I drink my lemon water and settle back, folding my arms.

"Don't sulk Sherlock."

I am not. I am cold, that is all. I close my eyes and ignore her.

The highly infuriating woman wraps my covers about me and sits at my side. "I could tell you another story, I guess..."

"I was listening to one, but you dragged me away from my computer."

She wags a finger under my running nose. "That was a news report and you're supposed to be taking it easy. Not thinking, not running experiments; just resting and getting better. Watson'll have my head if I let you get sick again," she glares at me icily. "And I'll have yours. "

"You say such lovely things to your friends, Lestrade; it makes me wonder what you would say to an enemy. "

"My 'enemies' can go and zed off Holmes! I wouldn't get mad if one of them died of pneumonia, believe me!"

Oh! She is shouting, cursing and threatening because she cares! Truly, women are the strangest creatures I have ever known. Why did Providence decide that I should work with one? Truly, God must have a sense of humour indeed to have placed my under this Yarder's authority!

Lestrade sighs and wraps an arm around me. She looks as if she would like to say something, but each time she opens her mouth she thinks better of it and falls silent again.

"What is it?" I ask her.

She shrugs. "I don't know what to say to you anymore. I can't force you to rest, even if I can see that you're making your fever worse..."

"Give me some stimulation and I shall rest! Surely the Yard has some cold cases that I c-caaa... Atchoo!" I groan and wipe at my nose. "...that I can puzzle over. Excuse me."

She smirks at me. "I don't think you want any 'cold' cases Sherlock. I'd keep warm if I were you."

Very droll. "Pah!" I close my eyes and go to sleep, if only so that I do not have to listen to Lestrade's ceaseless nagging!

"Sherlock? "

I force my eyes open and sit up, blinking at Lestrade in the bright light that is streaming through the windows. "Hum?" Grrr! My nose is horribly blocked! That would explain the headache and dry throat.

She grimaces. "You sound awful! How're you feeling?"

My head is pounding, made worse by the bright light. That is unimportant because: "I am frightfully bored!"

"Change the record, would ya?" she smirks at me. "D'you think you might feel better after a quick ride with me? Maybe a change o' scenery might do you some good. What d'you say?"

I agree readily and within an hour we are in Lestrade's cruiser; much to Watson's annoyance, for he feels that I am not well enough yet. I have no idea where we are going. Lestrade would not give me any clues and my brain is still a little foggy with illness... not that I am about to admit that to her, of course. I sincerely hope that this car journey means that 'my superior' has finally decided that I am fit enough to take a case now. Damn Yarders; particularly dictatorial female ones!

"D'you feel OK?"

I frown at her from the corner of my eye. "I am perfectly all right," I snap. "I am no better or worse than I was when you asked me two minutes ago, the two minutes before that, or the five minutes before that. If I feel unwell, I shall tell you."

The Yarder huffs. "You don't though Sherlock; you know that as well as I do."

"Then why do you even bother to ask me?" I demand with annoyance.

"I don't know! Because I care, maybe? Because you're my responsibility while you work as consultant for the Yard and my friend whether you're working or not?" she shrugs and sniffs. "Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment..."

I cannot argue with that. I turn to smile at her. "I am sorry my dear. I did not mean to be short with you; I have simply grown rather tired of being asked how I am."

She nods. "I guess I can relate to that. I'm sorry. I just..." she huffs a second time and turns to stare at me. "You scared me, OK?"

"Watch the road!" I close my eyes tightly and prepare to meet my maker for the second time. Lestrade's driving is bad enough when she is paying attention!

"OK! OK! My eyes are to the front! Relax Holmes!"

I open my eyes again and realise that I am gripping my seat. I am so very glad that my stomach has long since ceased its rebellion, or I would probably be fighting with nausea by now. I release the breath that I had not realised that I had been holding and clear my throat to avoid coughing afterwards.

I hear Lestrade sigh wearily. "Look, I've never seen anyone in such a bad way as you were and... and..." she shakes her head and sighs again, this time in a somewhat shaky manner. She is trying to calm herself. "You're usually so tough! It was hard to see you so tired and vulnerable..."

I can assure you that it was hardly an enjoyable experience for me either! "I do understand. I am truly sorry. That you had to see me like that."

She starts to turn her head but stops herself. "That wasn't your fault. Just... just do me a favour and don't get mad when I worry, OK? I've seen how bad you can get now; it's gonna take me a while to relax again."

What the deuce am I supposed to say to that? "I very much doubt that I shall become as unwell as that again," I decide to retort at last. "As you said yourself, it is unusual to suffer with more than one severe case of influenza in less than seven years."

"That's true, but fear is irrational Holmes. You know that, right?"

Only too well. "Yes, I do know that."

The rest of the journey passes in silence, though I suspect that that is mainly because Lestrade is being careful to avoid enquiring about how I am feeling yet again. She has her mouth tightly shut and every now and then she casts me a quick glance from the corner of her eye.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally descend and pull up outside of a graveyard.

"What is this? A case involving grave robbers?"

Lestrade smirks at me. "What was it you said about jumping to conclusions before you have the facts, Sherlock? Come on, time to get out."

I exit the car and stretch gratefully.

"Still getting aches, huh?"

I turn a glare upon her. "I have spent the last week on the settee, Lestrade; I could have done with a long walk rather than a lengthy drive."

She shakes her head. "I'll let you take a long walk when Watson says you're well enough. Right now, you're still recovering. In fact, you're only out at all because you were about to start climbing the walls!"

Ha! "I can assure you that I most certainly do not climb walls," I retort as she takes my arm and guides me through the graveyard.

"No, 'course not; you shoot 'em, don't you?"

I pull my arm from her grip. "I only did that the once!"

She stops and frowns at me when I cough. "You sure you're OK?"

"I am certain," I assure her. "Watson tells me that the cough may linger for a few more days, but I do feel very much improved."

She snorts. "I can see that you're feeling better Sherlock. I didn't ask that; I asked if you were OK. There's a difference."

Hum! Bravo Lestrade; you may consider me put squarely in my place. "Why are we here? It looks as if nobody has walked these paths in years!"

"D'you want me to tell you, or would you prefer to work it out for yourself?" she asks me with a smirk. "After all, you were complaining that you needed some 'mental stimulation' before you went crazy."

I shrug and wipe at my nose. It is rather cold out and I can feel the biting chill through my Inverness.

The Yarder slips an arm around me. "Maybe I should've waited until you were a hundred percent..."

"Oh really Lestrade!" I attempt to pull away but she grips my arm and gives it a squeeze.

"Come on Holmes, I don't wanna fight. Ah! Here we are; I'll let you take a look around alone. Call me when you're ready to go home."

I am pointed toward an ancient grave that is wrapped in ivy and overgrown with weeds. I approach it slowly and kneel beside the obscured tombstone. I have a strange, uncomfortable feeling that I recognise this grave. I tentatively reach out a hand and brush aside the leaves. Yes, I know this stone; even though I only visited this place but the once. It marks the final resting place of my dearest friend. Standing shoulder to shoulder with his headstone is that of his loving wife Mary.

"Hello Watson," I whisper hoarsely. "I doubt that you expected to be visited by me, but... well... you always said that I would never cease to surprise you."

I cough into my hand and take a moment to ensure that I am quite alone. There is not a sign of Lestrade, but I know that she is within shouting distance. At least she has given us some privacy. I turn my attention back to the ivy-shrouded stone beside which I am kneeling.

"I am sorry old friend... I know not where or how to begin. You find me somewhat ill-prepared..." I shiver and rub at my arms as I attempt to pull myself together. I very much doubt that Lestrade will allow me to stay here in the cold for very long. "I have missed you terribly," I murmur softly, pulling up one of the many weeds and tossing it away. My poor, neglected Watson! I shall have to visit this grave - these graves - and tend to them regularly. "There is not a moment that passes when I do not think of you..."

And yet I did not even think to track down his grave; Lestrade did it for me. I dismiss the thought with a shake of my head. No, I know why I could not bring myself to seek this place out myself, why I had not even enquired whether it was still here. Far too many graveyards have been built upon without a second thought and I could not bear to think of my Watson's mortal remains sharing that fate. Ignorance, in that case, would indeed have been bliss.

"You must forgive me for not coming to find you; I was afraid that you might be lost," I shake my head and sniff quietly. The cold air is causing my eyes and nose to stream. "I am so very glad to find that you are still here. I could not..." I swallow awkwardly, for my throat is suddenly strangely tight. "I could not bear to lose you entirely."

I close my eyes and feel fresh tears slip from them and trace their courses down my wind-blasted cheeks. I lean tiredly against the headstone. "I now know what I put you through between '91 and '93 my dear fellow, for I am going through much the same now. I did not realise that being separated from a friend could be so very painful..." I sniff yet again and blow my nose as quietly as I can manage. "I would give anything just to see your face again... to hear your laughter..." I wipe at my nose and shake my head before raising my eyes to rest upon the stone before me. "...or even one of your admonishments..." I give a small smile. "I wonder if you knew how much good you did me... how much you changed me... I owe you so very much..."

All at once I am sobbing helplessly, unable to speak a word. I cling to the cold, ivy-enveloped stone and allow the months (nay, centuries!) of withheld emotion to leave me in the form of tiny, salty, droplets of water.

I shiver suddenly and attempt to muffle a sneeze with my handkerchief. "Attishoo!" I grimace at the sound, for I am still making rather too much noise for my liking. I can appreciate Lestrade's reason for keeping me from working just yet, however annoying it may be to be forced to stay at home when I am feeling so much better. "Excuse me old boy. I would imagine that you already perceived that I have been unwell. It is nothing really, only a cold! It has been more of an annoyance than anything; bad enough to keep me from my work but not serious enough to cause me to feel it is warranted... But you know how it is."

I am sure that he would laugh at my words if he could, for he does indeed know only too well. He was often forced to put up with me when I was too ill to leave the house but feeling too well to want to stay inside and do nothing. I could be insufferable when I was bored!

"I am not quite sure how I am supposed to go on without you. I am afraid of what I may become without you, for you were always my beacon of light in all my darkness. You yourself called my morose periods 'black moods', but they were never as black when you were near..." I choke on my tears and fall silent again. What must Watson think of me?

"I suspect that my current behaviour comes as much more of a surprise to you than anything that I have ever done before now," I grimace at the memory that Lestrade dredged up as we walked the path together. "Although you might be inclined to disagree; I have done some rather strange things, have I not? I do not kn-know haa..." I stop speaking and give my nose a twitch. It does not work. I raise my handkerchief to my face hastily. "Eeeeishoo! Oh, excuse me," I groan quietly and blow my nose. "I honestly do not know how you lived with me, Watson. You were most certainly as remarkable as you claimed that I was. After all, I was argumentative and sometimes deliberately difficult! There were occasions when I would insult your writing just because I was annoyed or bored and wanted to row! I..." I shake my head and lower my eyes. "I did not deserve your friendship..." I fall silent again and allow my tears to fall until there are none left to shed. When I am finished I am left feeling exhausted and yet strangely light, as if a tremendous weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I raise my head slowly as a gentle hand squeezes my shoulder. For how long have we had an audience?

"Lestrade?" I wince at the sound of my voice, for it would appear that I have cried myself hoarse.

She gives my shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I heard you sneezing and thought I better get you back before you get sick again, but then I saw you and thought maybe you really do need this."

I nod wearily as she helps me to stand. "Thank you for not dragging me away."

"You're welcome," the Yarder smiles at me. "D'you feel better?"

I return her smile brightly and squeeze her hand, which I am still holding in mine after accepting her assistance. "Much better! Thank you my dear. ...For finding my Watson for me and reuniting us... for I have needed him more than I could ever begin to say."

She blinks her suddenly bright eyes rapidly. "I only wish I could do more Sherlock. Come on, let's get you back. Your hands're like ice!"

I permit her to escort me back to her car without a protest. I had not realised how very tiring emotions could be; perhaps that is why I had not been able to find the energy to fully recover from my recent illness. Perhaps fighting all of my long-suppressed emotion had left me with nothing to fight the infernal chill off with.

I climb inside the hovercar and strap myself in under the watchful gaze of my friend. I may be rather more tired than she would like, but I already know that her actions have done me the power of good. I smile happily at her as she slips into the driver's seat and fastens her own seat belt.

The entire journey back to Baker Street is spent discussing the upkeep of the Watsons' graves and the flowers that I plan to plant there. At last, I finally feel some happiness warm my ancient heart and know that I can finally heal and begin to live again.