They brought Holmes slowly, carefully up the seventeen steps, the police officers bearing their burden as though it were the most precious thing on earth. Clark had pushed on ahead of them to alert Mrs Hudson, and as Watson followed the bier up the stairs, around the hall and into the rooms he shared with his friend, Mrs Hudson came bustling after, bearing an armful of towels whilst Clark followed behind, wrapped in a large fluffy bathsheet the redoubtable landlady had forced upon him.

"Clark, you're soaked too, you need to get out of those wet things before you catch your death, man," observed Watson, following Mrs Hudson. Without looking to see Clark's response, the doctor took a towel from Mrs Hudson as the bobbies set their burden down gently upon the floor.

"Let's get him out of those clothes," ordered Watson as he shed his coat and jacket before rolling his sleeves up. "Mrs Hudson, a warm bath please – warm, not hot! And then hot water bottles and blankets."

She nodded without word and bustled into the bathroom to begin running the bath whilst Watson started stripping the soaked clothing fro the chilled body of his friend with the assistance of Lestrade. Holmes did not stir during their ministrations, his limbs limp and pliant, his breathing still laboured and uneven. Watson draped the towel over Holmes' hips to preserve his friend's dignity as Smith and Lestrade carefully hoisted the unconscious man between them and bore him into the bathroom. Watson checked the water with his elbow much as a mother might check the bathwater before bathing her infant; he glanced up and nodded his approval to Mrs Hudson who smiled briefly in acknowledge before departing to fetch the hotwater bottles and blankets, shooing Clark ahead of her. "Off to the kitchen with you!" she ordered "I've a good pot of broth on the stove that will warm you up, Officer."

Lestrade grunted with amusement at the sight of his officer being chastised by the woman, then helped Smith to slowly lower Holmes into the bath, Watson reaching up to cradle his friend's head with his hands to help keep it above the water.

Holmes jerked slightly as his body sank into the water and his eyes flickered open as he cried out wordlessly in pain. Watson shifted around so that he was now supporting Holmes' head in the crook of his elbow whilst the other hand caught a slim, flailing white hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Is the water too hot?" asked Lestrade anxiously. Watson shook his head.

"It's just below blood temperature," he replied. "His body is so chilled though that it feels scalding." He turned and glanced up at the inspector. "Lestrade, I owe you an apology. My behaviour earlier-"

"Quite alright, Doctor; no apology needed," replied Lestrade, patting his shoulder awkwardly. "You were concerned for Mr Holmes."

"Thank you, Lestrade," Watson said quietly. "For all you've done for him."

"All in a day's work, Dr Watson," said Lestrade, straightening himself up "Speaking of which, I have to get the lads back to the station and call back Hopkins and Gregson. Will you need any further help, Doctor?"

Watson shook his head. "I should be able to manage now with Mrs Hudson's help," he replied.

Lestrade nodded. "In which case, we'll be on our way. I'll leave Clarky with you for now. Best of luck to you, Doctor, and I hope Mr Holmes recovers with no further incident."

"Thank you, Inspector, Constable," replied Watson, nodding to Smith as the officer touched the brim of his hat briefly in salute.

And then they left, the door closed, and there was silence save for Holmes' ragged breathing and the faint lapping of water in the bath. Holmes had stilled again, eyes closed, lips parted as he laboured for breath. Tenderly Watson took up a flannel, wetting it in the warm water before steadily washing all traces of dirt from the white face, the delicate hands, the bruised and cut feet. Then gently he washed canal filth and traces of water weed out of the coal-black hair before sitting back on his heels and staring down into his friend's face. Softly he called Holmes' name, stroking his fingers across his brow and trailing them down the side of his face. Holmes' brow creased slightly in a faint frown, but his eyes did not open. The skin beneath Watson's hand was cool, but no longer held the deathly chill of before.

There was a slight tap upon the bathroom door and Mrs Hudson cleared her throat slightly. "I've put the hot water bottles in his bed, Dr Watson, and I've brought more blankets. How is he?"

"Better, I think," replied Watson, glancing round. "I think we can safely get him out of the bath and into bed now, if you would call Constable Clark to assist?"

"He's fallen asleep in the kitchen in front of the fire," she replied briskly. "I thought it best to leave him to it. How may I assist?"

"We need to get him out of the bath and dried off quickly," replied Watson, moving around the bath to slip both arms under Holmes' shoulders, lifting him up slightly; Holmes' head lolled back to rest upon the edge of the bath, his face turned a little to one side. Mrs Hudson laid a pair of large bathsheets upon the floor, one on top of the other to make a double layer, then moved to the foot of the bath. Rolling her sleeves up to her elbows, she reached down into the water to gather up Holmes' legs at the knees. On a count of three, they scooped him up out of the water and laid him down upon the towels. Briskly they rubbed him down with clean dry towels before wrapping him up warmly in the bathsheets.

Then Watson gathered his friend's thin body up into his arms, inwardly marvelling at how light and frail he felt. Holmes' head rested damply upon his shoulder as he carried him into his bedroom, Mrs Hudson bustling behind. Watson waited whilst Mrs Hudson pulled back the covers and rearranged the hot water bottles. Between them, they managed to dress him in a warm flannel nightshirt, and then Watson laid him carefully in the bed with hot water bottles tucked in under his armpits, over his hips and under his knees before tucking him in and wrapping extra blankets around him.

Throughout all of this, Holmes stirred little; his breathing grew a little quieter, but although his eyelids flickered briefly his eyes did not open, even when Watson bent over hi and laid a hand over his forehead.

"Will that be all Dr Watson?" asked Mrs Hudson quietly. "Shall I bring you some broth?"

"Please," nodded Watson, not taking his eyes from his friend's still form. Mrs Hudson nodded silently; gathering up discarded towels, she quietly left the room.

Drawing a chair over to the bedside, Watson dropped down into the seat with a small sigh. Gently he drew Holmes' limp hand out from under the eiderdown and cradled in both of his warm, careworn hands. With a sigh, he rested his forearms on the edge of the bed, and lowered his head to rest his forehead against them.

Adrenaline and fear had kept him going up until now, but finally Holmes was home and safe; and all at once Watson could feel the energy draining from him, leaving a drained feeling of a body and soul-deep exhaustion. Closing his eyes, he allowed sleep to claim him.

A short while later, Mrs Hudson returned bearing a bowl of steaming broth. She paused in the doorway to regard the two unconscious men; the one lying still and insensate against the pillows, his face almost as white as the soft cotton sheets, the other slumped forward, his head pillowed upon his arms, his hand still holding Holmes'. She carefully placed the tray on a nearby table, then slipped silently into the room to tuck a blanket gently around the sleeping doctor's shoulders. Then picking up the tray once more, she drew the door closed behind her, leaving the two men to sleep in peace.