I awake slowly to find that my head is resting upon something warm and soft. I have a hot water bottle at my feet and I have been wrapped in warm rugs. I would also appear to be fully clothed with the exception of my shoes. Odd. Why did I not get into my sleepwear? I now realise that there is a hand loosely gripping mine and open my eyes to find that Watson is sitting in a chair at my bedside. He is also fully clothed and has only a single rug over his legs to keep him warm. I perceive that he has some paper and a pen at his elbow, where he is leaning upon the wood; perhaps I should buy him a tablet or a portable computer. I imagine he misses having something personal to write in. Well, he cannot stay there like that! He must be terribly uncomfortable and is most likely freezing in this cold room! Why did he not take himself up to his bed?

I extract myself from the many blankets and shiver. Yes, this room is terribly cold! I am about to wake my companion when I see the weariness in his drawn face. No. I may want an explanation, but I do not wish to disturb my companion just yet; by all appearances he was awake for much of the night. He will wake when he is ready and I shall let him alone until he does so. I see him shiver slightly in his sleep and carefully drape one of the blankets that he has so thoughtfully wrapped about me about his shoulders before I settle again with a sigh as I attempt to return to slumber.

I am just on the edge of sleep when I suddenly become aware of a dull ache in my stomach. I am hungry! I have no one to blame but myself, for it is entirely my own fault that I did not eat my dinner. What is the time? When is Watson likely to awake? I stifle a groan and lie quite still. I am determined not to disturb my long-suffering friend.

I know not how long I have been sleeping, but I suddenly find myself returned to wakefulness by a much more demanding discomfort. I have to use the lavatory. I would get up, but I am warm and otherwise comfortable; in any case, the house is cold and the plumbing makes rather a lot of noise and is bound to disturb my sleeping Boswell. The washroom is not far away and I can wait. I shall wait.

Despite my discomforts I manage to somehow doze on and off. I am clearly still very tired for I almost fail to notice when my companion's snores cease and his hand returns to lightly touching mine.

"Holmes? Are you awake?" my companion whispers as he adjusts the blankets about me.

I turn my head to face him. "Hum, yes. What are you doing at my bedside? Surely your bed is rather more comfortable."

He frowns. "You were obviously very tired last night," he explains slowly. "When I returned to the sitting room, having seen the Irregulars out, I found you already sleeping. You were shivering despite the fire in the grate beside you (as you are now, actually) and I went to fetch you some of our rugs. Upon my return, I found you in the grip of a bad dream of some sort..." he pauses his narrative in anticipation of a vocal response of some kind and gazes at me with some trepidation.

I merely raise my eyebrows at his words. I only rarely suffer with nightmares!

"I did not know whether I should wake you or not, but I could see that you were in distress and could not bear to watch you. When I woke you, I found myself unable to calm you... Oh, you are cold Holmes!" he interrupts himself when I give a particularly violent shudder. "Come through to the sitting room and I shall light a fire."

I shake my head and carefully cross my legs. I am not shaking due to the cold. "I take it that you decided to stay here so as to watch over me?"

He nods. "Upon finding that I could not calm you, I realised that I could not leave you down here alone. I thought that you might sleep if you knew that we were both perfectly safe. You were saying something about danger and Moriarty, you see, but I could not understand you. Nothing that I said to reassure you seemed to work either."

No, I very much doubt that it would have. I should at least attempt to explain myself to him, but not yet. First, I must use the lavatory.

"Are you hungry?" Watson enquires suddenly, rubbing at his stomach.

I nod as I carefully (and painfully slowly) attempt to extract myself from the many blankets without putting any stress upon my swollen abdomen. I should have moved much sooner!

"What would you like?"

I do not care. I have other things on my mind, such as not making a terrible mess in my bedroom! I gasp and hastily sit on the bed with my legs tightly crossed as the change of position causes my discomfort to increase alarmingly. Yes, I most certainly should have got up sooner! It had not occurred to me that simply getting to my feet would make my predicament so much worse or I would have done so. "Surprise me old fellow. I am rather too hungry to be overly fussy."

He rests his hand upon my shoulder and I almost jump at the sudden touch, for I am too focused on controlling myself to be as aware of my surroundings as I usually would. I am glad that I remember to maintain my usual composure.

"Holmes? Are you all right? You look as if you are in pain."

I am not in pain, but I am beginning to doubt that I can negotiate the few paces to the washroom unscathed. It is difficult enough to stand!

"Holmes?" he calls to me with building concern. "Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

I groan and bend forward as I attempt to cross my legs tighter still while I clench and unclench my hands. My body is screaming at me now! "I am not hurting Watson. I simply... I believe that I was much too tired to tend to myself as I usually would before bed last night and my wretched body is rebelling as a result."

I hear my companion give a weary sigh as the hand at my shoulder relaxes its grip. "You ignore your needs much too readily."

I cannot argue with that. How he knows that this has not simply come over me as my body has awoke I am not quite sure though.

"Do you think that you can reach the washroom unassisted?"

I nod curtly. My pride permits nothing else and I doubt that my friend could do much to help in any case. He would only serve to be a witness.

"Well... Then I shall make breakfast," he pats my shoulder sympathetically, which does not help in the slightest.

I grimace and address him with another curt nod, though I am unable to look him in the eye. Just leave me Watson!

My companion clears his throat again and hastily retreats downstairs, leaving me quite alone.

It is over breakfast that I tell Watson of Moriarty's clone, his creator Fenwick and all that has transpired in the absence of my Boswell. He listens quietly but I can see that he is becoming increasingly impatient with the urge to speak.

"Why did you not tell me all of this sooner?" he demands when he can resist no longer.

I shake my head and rub at my temple. "I did not wish to trouble you. I could see that you were not feeling well and thought that it was for the best that I did not worry you."

"Holmes!"

"But, I must admit," I give him a fleeting, bitter smile of self-loathing, "it was not all out of concern for your peace of mind and well-being. I was so glad to have you back and I wanted to simply enjoy your company and forget that the rest of the world even existed for a moment."

My companion's shoulders relax at this confession and he smiles at me. "Holmes, I know that you have missed me. My being here at all is proof enough of that. However, you should have told me why Lestrade returned you to life in the first place. Of course, she and John also had ample opportunity before you and I were even reintroduced, so you are hardly entirely to blame..." he shakes his head and then half-humorously wags a finger at me. "But no more secrets. From now on, we shall keep nothing from one another; life is much too short."

I agree.

"At least now I understand why you have insisted upon staying so very close to my side when we are out," my friend remarks suddenly.

Again I rub at my temple. "That was for a multitude of reasons. Most respectable citizens of New London traverse by hovercar, for a start. For another thing, very little of the London that you would recognise remains and you could easily become lost. I want you to be safe Watson."

He reaches across the table to pat my hand. "So I shall old chap, so I shall. You need not worry."

I address him with a small smile. "What would you like to do today?"

Watson immediately is entirely serious. "Today I intend to stay at home and keep warm. We tried to do entirely too much yesterday and I think that we could both do with a day of rest," he chuckles. "A restful Saturday! I cannot remember the last time that we had one of those!"

"I feel perfectly all right," I assure my companion, ignoring his remark about it being Saturday. I have had quite enough rest - I have had months of lazing on the settee!

He nods, ignoring my tone. "And I intend to keep you that way."

I address him with a half-hearted frown. Irksome as his coddling is, I do appreciate his affection and concern; they are a part of him anyway.

"Do not look at me like that. We have both come into contact with illness, become far too cold and used too much energy. Today we shall do the opposite."

I thump the table. "I dislike being made to do nothing."

He raises his eyebrows. "I shall not force you to do nothing! You must have an experiment to work on, surely? Or perhaps you would like to practice with your... What did you say that your instrument was called?"

"It is a keytar."

He meets my gaze. "Would you show me how it is played?"

I shrug. "As you wish. Thank you for the boiled eggs and soldiers by the way; they were just the way that I like them."

"Good! I am glad that you enjoyed your breakfast," he beams at me. "Are you still hungry? You hardly touched a thing last night."

I shake my head and wave a dismissive hand. "I never feel overly hungry after missing meals."

"Then you should not do it," he grumbles. "I do wish that you would take better care of yourself."

I shrug with my hands. "I did try to eat, if you recall," I snap.

"It is not just going without food Holmes."

"Do not start Watson," I warn him icily. I do not want a lecture from him.

He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "I hope that your mood will not be too disputative today."

I shall try not to be too disagreeable. "A thousand apologies Watson. Perhaps I am still slightly weary."

"That is extremely..." he shakes his head as he hastily calms himself and rephrases his reply. "That is quite probable Holmes. As Wiggins rightly said last night, you are more than likely still recovering."

"I shall try to keep that in mind." I can promise him no more than that.

"I suppose that that is as much as I can hope for. Thank you Holmes; it is appreciated."

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.

"Are you still sleepy?" my companion asks gently.

Annoyingly so, but I shake my head. I only feel this way because I attempted to return to slumber while I waited for Watson to awake.

There is a hand resting upon my forehead before I even realise that my friend has moved.

"Hum... You are most decidedly not yourself," Watson remarks with a frown in his voice when I give a start. "You would usually hear me coming and would not be surprised by my touch. But you are not fevered at least."

Of course I am not! Is he doing his utmost to irk me? "Watson!"

He pats my shoulder and advises me to take to the settee until I feel more like myself. I do so with the understanding that we at least take a stroll later.

I do feel much better after resting my eyes and I tell my companion as much cheerfully. I believe that he has also had at least forty winks, for he is still not dressed and his hair is untidy.

"For how long did I keep you awake last night?" I ask abruptly, causing his eyebrows to rocket in the direction of his messy hairline.

"I was not kept from sleep for very long by you. As a matter of fact, you fell asleep almost as soon as I put you to bed, if I am honest. No, it was my concern that kept me awake. I have only rarely heard of you having bad dreams and on every occasion it has been down to either fatigue or illness or a combination of the two. I must confess that I stayed at your side for my own peace of mind; I feared that you might become unwell during the night and hoped that I would awake quickly to tend to you if you were to show any signs of distress."

I smile at him fondly, for some reason no longer finding his concern bothersome. It is good to know that he is still so very fond of me that he would prefer to stay at my side all night if he even suspected that I might be unwell. "Dear old Watson."

He shrugs. "I am your friend Holmes."

I nod, knowing not what to say. He knows that I am glad to have such a friend and that I have missed and needed him terribly. Anything that I say will only serve as further repetition.

My companion takes to my side on the settee and rests a hand upon my arm. I immediately feel the tension that I had not even been aware of drain from me and I rest my head upon his shoulder.

I may have expected to be bored when forced to stay indoors, but I had not taken the return of my Boswell into account. The day is spent pleasantly; I show Watson how to use the computer, introduce him to ebooks and show him how to draw with an electronic pen or stylus on a tablet. He finds the 22nd Century's technology fascinating and embraces it as readily as I have, though he does voice some concern that the light from the various screens used may damage a fellow's eyes.

By early evening my companion has ceased to vex himself over my health and agrees to walk with me. He is astonished when we reach Regents Park, for that, remarkably, remains almost unchanged. It is also quite empty.

"Where do the people of the 22nd Century go to escape their busy lives?" Watson wonders aloud.

I shrug. "The video arcade, I believe."

"I myself still prefer wide open spaces and fresh air," he says with a smile. "Have you visited the country or coast yet?"

I link my arm through his and continue our walk. "I have had reason to visit the country once or twice. Not Sussex though," I add before he asks. "I did not like to. Like Baker Street, it would have held too many memories." Did I just say that out loud? What the deuce is happening to me?

He squeezes my arm gently. "Do you think that you missed me as much as you did because the house brought back so many memories?"

It probably did make it worse, but I have always missed Watson. Sussex was frightfully lonely without his presence and when he died it was almost intolerable. I felt as if I had passed out of life with him, leaving only an empty shell.

"Are you all right Holmes?"

I sniff and blink my eyes, which are suddenly prickling with an urge to water. "The cold air is causing my eyes to sting," I reply somewhat hoarsely.

"It is awfully bitter," my companion agrees. "Perhaps we should go back."

I nod and clear my throat with rather more violence than is required, for I am annoyed by my current emotion. I may be hiding it quite well, but I am sure that it has never taken so much effort to do so before.

Watson turns back to me with renewed concern. "Have you caught a cold?"

I shake my head. "It is just the chilly air. I shall be quite all right once I have had a cup of tea." I wonder just how much I worried him last night! I must have been terribly upset to cause him such lasting concern.

Our Irregulars are waiting for us when we reach the house. I am surprised (and pleased) to find that they have bought Watson a gift between them.

"Open it!" Wiggins urges my companion as I scrabble in my pocket for the key to our front door.

"Would you not prefer to have a light to see by?" I ask over my shoulder. "It is rather dark on the doorstep."

Watson agrees. "First, we shall light the fire and sit down with a warming drink. Is something wrong Holmes?"

"I can't seem to find the key," I reply quietly as I attempt to keep calm. We can hardly all go and invade Lestrade's apartment and I know not where else to go. I am terribly cold now that we have stopped walking and would very much like to get in out of the biting air.

"Oh!" my companion reaches into his pocket and hands me the key. "You gave it to me as I have deeper pockets. I am sorry; it slipped my mind."

I unlock the door and permit the Irregulars to enter the house before me. "There is no harm done old fellow. Hum! I do believe that we are going to have to get you a key of your own."

He smiles and pats my shoulder. "Yet another chore," he quips with a small smile.

I nod and take to the stairs.

"I shall bring up the tea in a moment Holmes," my companion informs me. I think I might have caught part of a muttered complaint about missing our housekeeper as he enters the kitchen, but I am not sure.

"It's freezing in here!" Deirdre complains as I enter the living room. She has removed her coat but would appear to be using it as a blanket.

Wiggins sniffs quietly. "Yeah, it is pretty cold. Old houses are often draughty."

"Less of the 'old', if you please," I retort playfully as I crouch beside the fireplace. "This house is not so very different in age to myself and Watson."

"Sorry Mr. Holmes," both chime meekly.

Tennyson then reminds me that it is easy to forget my age, as I appear to be only a young man.

"I know," I assure them quickly as I poke the ashes of the last fire through the grate with the poker. "There was no harm done. Wiggins, do you think that you could find a dustpan and brush? There should be one in the cleaning cupboard in the kitchen. There is too much ash to permit me to light a fresh fire and I fear that I am making rather a mess."

"D'you need any help?" Deirdre offers.

I cough loudly and shake my head while I attempt to wave the ash that I have stirred up away from my face. "That is quite... all... Ah-ha... Ashoo! Choo! Attishoo!"

"Bless you!" I hear Watson set down the tea tray and come to my side. "Are you all right?"

I nod and blow my nose. "It is all of this infernal ash. Eeeeishoo!"

He pats my shoulder and takes the poker from me. "Bless you. I think that you have stirred up quite ee... Huh... Hushoosh! Hushoo! Excuse me. Quite enough of it Holmes. I suggest you pour the tea and leave me to tend to the fire."

I obey with gratitude, for I am still rather chilly. Wiggins is right; the house is rather cold and draughty in comparison with the more modern buildings, like Lestrade's apartment.

"Here it is Mr. Holmes," Wiggins announces as he returns moments later, brandishing the dustpan and brush.

I smile at the lad. "Thank you. Give it to Watson, if you would be so kind; he has commandeered the fire... fireplace. Ashoo!"

He hands my companion the dustpan set and then turns to me with concern, which is ignored.

"Tea Wiggins?"

"Oh yeah. Yes please."

I flash him a bright smile and hand him a cup. "Could you pass this to Watson while I prepare yours? I should think that he could do with it."

We are soon all seated before a roaring fire, the chill having been successfully banished, while we sip our tea.

"Sorry to bother you on a Saturday," Wiggins says suddenly. "We just... I guess we wanted to say thanks... to both of you... and to welcome Doctor Watson..."

I address him with a bright, cheerful smile. "You have nothing to apologise for; it is always a pleasure to see you. Ah! Watson! We have quite forgotten your present."

My companion smiles and stands to pick up the package from off the dining table behind us. "Shall I open it?"

The Irregulars and I shout a unanimous cry of "Yes" at him as if we have practiced it.

"You managed that without even being counted in," he remarks with a small smile.

I slam my eyes shut and drum my fingers upon the arm of my chair. "Watson!"

He returns to his armchair, stretching his legs before the fire as he does so, and smiles. "Now?"

I address him with a glare. "No, wait until Christmas. For Heaven's sake old fellow, the Irregulars want to see you open it!"

He chuckles and eagerly tears at the paper, causing one of the items within to slip into his lap. "Oh!"

I have already stood and hasten forward to see what he has for myself. I feel a fond smile flit across my face when I realise that he has been presented with a writing book - not a tablet - and a rather special and expensive-looking writing pen.

"It is a lovely gift," my companion says carefully. "But it must surely have cost you rather a lot..."

Wiggins shrugs his shoulders. "It wasn't that much between us. 'Sides, Mr. Holmes pays us really well when we help him on his cases."

"That is meant to be put towards future expenses," I remind my Irregulars firmly. "College might be free until you reach the age of twenty-one these days, but university still requires funds. And if you choose to live on campus..."

He holds up his hands. "We know Mr. Holmes. You told us before what you want us to do with our money. But it's not like Doctor Watson's gonna come back from the dead every week, is it? We just wanted to... to welcome him, I guess."

I nod and resume my seat. "Forgive me. I know that it is not any of my business what you choose to spend your money on - and this was a very kind gesture."

"Indeed it was," my companion agrees with a smile. "I shall be sure to make good use of this journal."

The smiles return to the faces of my - our - Irregulars and they relax visibly.

"You like it then?" Tennyson asks, which Wiggins repeats.

Watson nods. "Very much," he assures them.

"Can we read your journal?" Deirdre asks. "When it's full, I mean."

My friend thoughtfully runs a hand over the cover of his new journal as he contemplates his reply. "You must understand that it would not be like reading one of my submissions to the Strand. Some of the things that I have written in my journals have simply been innermost thoughts or fears; that was how I was able to remember what was going through my mind or what was said during particular scenes in a case that I wrote about some years later."

"So... You'd prefer it if we didn't?" she asks carefully.

"It would depend upon what I end up writing in it," he admits.

I smile at him but say nothing.

"So you might be OK with us reading it, but you don't know yet," Wiggins sums up.

Watson nods. "Yes. I am not saying 'no' just yet. But you must understand that I often write down what Holmes and I experience together to make sense of it all in my own mind. I did not start out with the intention of submitting any of our adventures to the Strand."

"Well no, I guess you wouldn't have," Deirdre replies thoughtfully.

"We brought something else too," Tennyson announces suddenly.

Wiggins brightens. "Yeah! That's right. Give it to Mr. Holmes."

I watch with (what I hope to be) a polite curiosity as Tennyson reaches into a compartment of his hoverchair that is hidden from view. There is a rustling sound as he withdraws a plastic carrier bag.

They have brought a selection box of biscuits and a variety of "old-fashioned" sweets. I thank them and show them to my companion, knowing that he is fond of sweet foods as much as I am.

The biscuits are opened and shared to accompany the tea. I try not to compare them with John's creations, for home-made foods always taste better than the mass-produced ones, and remain grateful that we have any biscuits at all.

"I am afraid that we have no food in the house to offer you," Watson informs the Irregulars regretfully. "John usually does the shopping, I understand, and as he is not here..."

"We could eat out again," I suggest. My bank account will soon be in the red if this continues (unless a lucrative case comes my way soon) but Watson does not need to know how much I have spent. His pleasure and company is worth the expense.

Wiggins looks thoughtful. "Maybe it'd be better if you shopped for groceries. You can't just keep on eating out - that'd cost a fortune!"

I grimace at the thought. Where the devil would I find the things that I want?

"We'll help," Deirdre volunteers before I can speak a word.

My companion smiles at them. "Thank you. I think we might need some help. Holmes? Are you coming or staying?"

I am not about to allow them to go off without me! I finish my tea and set down my cup. "One moment Watson. Could somebody put the fire out and ensure that it is ready to be lit again when we return?"

I leave Watson to explain that the fire should not be left burning while the house is empty, fire guard or no, and vanish into the cloakroom before retrieving my Inverness, Watson's coat and our hats, cravats and gloves.

"Are we ready to leave now?" Deirdre asks rather impatiently as Watson follows my example and makes use of the lavatory before we leave. "It'll be getting dark soon and it was cold enough when it was daylight."

"You don't have to come if you will be too cold," I assure the Irregulars, reminding myself that in modern society they are still classed as children, despite being of an age when they could have married and started a family of their own in my day. "We could light the fire again and leave you here..."

"It's not that Mr. Holmes. I just thought it'd be too cold out for you," she responds. "You really didn't look very well last night."

I smile at her. "I am quite all right," I assure her. "My Inverness is more than adequate against the chill."

Their clothes are not, however. I believe Deirdre is the only one amongst them that owns a coat with proper sleeves, not that hers is very thick. My Irregulars seem to wear the same outdoor clothing in all weather and not one of their garments appears to be particularly warm. I loan Wiggins my coat and ask Watson to ply Tennyson with some of our rugs to cover his legs and drape over his shoulders.

I am just about to announce that we can indeed leave now when my companion asks whether anyone else wishes to visit the cloakroom before we venture out. "Exposure to the cold can cause a fellow to become... rather uncomfortable," he reminds them awkwardly.

Eventually, we step out into the biting air. I turn down the flaps of my cap and suggest that Wiggins turns up the collar of his loaned coat. I wish that we had some spare gloves to loan to them.

I have never before set foot inside of a "supermarket" and I find myself somewhat overwhelmed. This shop seems to sell everything that a fellow could ever want, from electric irons (no need for warming a flat iron at the hearth these days! That is something that Mrs. Hudson would have adored) to fresh milk. There is a smell of bread baking along with an aroma of fresh fish as we enter through the automatic doors.

"What can we purchase here?" Watson enquires.

Tennyson grins broadly. "What can't you get here?" his hoverchair retorts cheekily.

"What do we need?" I ask my companion. "You have been in the kitchen more than I; do we need bread, milk or sugar?"

He narrows his eyes and presses a finger to his lips as he attempts to remember. "We are most certainly running out of milk and sugar. There is half a loaf of bread on the counter beside the cold - the fridge - but I am not sure how old it is."

His memory is still sharp. Excellent! I smile at him fondly before turning my attention to our surroundings once more. Well, it should not be difficult to find what we want because every item category would seem to be signposted.

"Mr. Holmes," Wiggins has acquired a wire basket on wheels that would seem to have a mind of its own. "I thought we might need a trolley if there's much to get."

"Absolutely. Thank you."

"Will you be staying for dinner?" Watson asks the Irregulars. "And if so, what would you like to eat?"

"Not burgers," I hasten to tell them. "You had those last night."

Watson nods his agreement. "Quite right. Too much can be had of a good thing, you know."

"Pizza?" Deirdre asks.

Tennyson grins and expresses his agreement in a series of whirs and beeps.

I smile to myself. I could make a pizza, I am sure. I have helped John to make some bread before; how difficult could it be to add a topping to it? "Pizza. Hum, I am sure that that could be managed. With salad?"

All three of the Irregulars grimace in response.

"You have to eat some fresh fruit and vegetables," Watson tells them firmly. "They contain important vitamins and minerals and aid the digestion."

"Fruit," I add to our rapidly growing shopping list. "I believe that our fruit bowl is quite empty."

We soon have a trolley that is so frightfully heavy that Watson is pushing it while Wiggins pulls and helps to steer it. I notice that there is a clothing section and take a quick look while everybody else is busy selecting the fruit and vegetables that I have listed. Ah ha! This shop has exactly what I was looking for and I quickly make a purchase.

"There you are!" Watson says as I return to his side. "We were beginning to wonder what might have befallen you."

I shrug with my hands. "Oh, I simply had an errand of my own to attend to while we were here. How have you got on?"

"We found everything you said you wanted," Wiggins informs me. "And some extra bits that Doctor Watson thought might be good to have about."

Tennyson asks if there is anything else that we need.

"No," I respond carefully. "No, I think that that is everything."

"What about ice cream?" Wiggins asks. "Do you guys like it?"

I grimace at the thought of consuming such a thing at this time of year. "In hot weather, yes. Why in the world would we want to eat such a thing on so cold an evening?"

He shrugs. "I just thought it'd go nicely with the strawberries we picked up, that's all."

Watson's eyes light up and he sends Deirdre off in search of fresh cream. "I think that that is everything then."

I agree with gratitude, for my legs seem to be somewhat tired. I feel as if we have been here for hours.

"Good God!" Watson gasps as he consults his watch. "It is no wonder I am so hungry! We have been out for nearly three hours!"

It is little wonder that I am feeling fagged either then. How did we come to spend so long here? More to the point, how much longer would we have been here without the assistance of our Irregulars? I am truly glad of their help and company tonight.