The restful night I had anticipated was a sad disappointment. No matter how I cocooned myself under blankets I could not get warm. Lying on my left side helped the rib pain but aggravated the old wound in my shoulder. Finally, when I did start to doze I wakened myself with the sounds of rasping whenever I breathed. By morning I was tired, pained, feverish, and quite ready to shy whatever projectile was closest to hand at Holmes when he entered my room and asked how I was feeling.

"I am not yet recovered, if that's what you're asking," I answered with what even I knew was unwarranted petulance.

"I am sorry to hear that even if I had not expected you to be," Holmes replied calmly. "Disregard the question, then; I can deduce the answer myself. You do not sound at all like yourself."

"Pleurisy affects the resonance of the voice."

"I was referring to the uncharacteristic crossness you are currently displaying but yes, I had noted that too. Actually, Mrs. Hudson wished me to ask if you wanted any breakfast."

"Not now, thank you." Whatever appetite I might have possessed was submerged beneath a more pressing desire for sleep, or at least some sort of rest.

"If you wait much longer it will be luncheon. It is closing on ten o'clock."

"That's fine."

Holmes gave a small snort. "I think you underestimate the difficulties of playing emissary between our determined landlady and your self-imposed quarantine. She is an excellent woman in most things but I think she is inclined to ignore the addage about killing the messenger. Show a little mercy for your fellow man."

"Tell her what you will then." Though I did not know how effective my efforts to rebuff Mrs. Hudson's efforts would be. I might have better luck with Holmes; he prided himself on being logical, after all.

Holmes gave me a crooked smile. "No interest in food at all? You have had a rough night of it, haven't you?"

"Frankly, yes."

He glanced at my medical bag on the floor, left open with key supplies closest to the top. "Has the morphine helped?"

"Some."

"And the fever?"

"Around 101.5." (1)

"I see." Suddenly Holmes seized the secretary chair from the small desk and dragged it over to the bed. "Watson, I took the liberty of borrowing some of your medical texts last night. I researched pleurisy. I do not mean to question your judgment but I could not help notice some discrepancies between your symptoms and the so-called classic ones."

"The detective turns diagnostician?" I asked, amused despite myself.

"Based on my recent experience, there is precious little difference between the two. Save, of course, the particular field of profession. Seriously now, are you quite sure there is nothing more to this? The text said pleurisy is often secondary to other sorts of respiratory infections."

"Often secondary," I repeated firmly.

"While I will agree that compromising your constitution for weeks on end probably contributed to the state you are in, I cannot think you fall under the category of 'alcoholic,' " retorted Holmes.

"Thank you, Holmes," said I dryly.

"That brings me to my second point. Pleurisy often has a dry cough and you . . . "

"Have none at all," I agreed. "Thank God." If breathing hurt I could only imagine the agony that coughing would bring. "But Holmes, diseases do not always match to the letter their descriptions. There is a reason we use the term 'textbook case.'"

"Well, I shall bow to your opinion in the matter then," sighed Holmes, rising and returning the chair to its proper place. To my surprise, however, he did not leave immediately but rather crossed to the fireplace and began adding more fuel. I had not realized how long the fire had gotten but as I was the one who had been negligent, it was my responsibility to look after it.

"You needn't do that," I protested.

I received a dark look as an answer. Nor did Holmes stop what he was doing. When the fire was stoked to his satisfaction, he replaced the coal shovel with an impatient flourish and a loud clatter. "I'll convey your message to Mrs. Hudson. Do try to keep from freezing in the meantime."


The rest of the day as well as the next passed in an unpleasant haze broken into segments by Mrs. Hudson's persistence with broth and bread, intermittent chills and fever, and a few more reluctant injections of morphine. I have heard it said that doctors make the worst of patients. While I sincerely hope I did not live up to that prediction, I suspect it was only due to my vehement desire to stay sequestered that I did not grate on the nerves of my co-habitants more than I already was. One could only spend so many hours asleep, even when ill, and listless boredom began to prey on me.

Then too was Holmes's subtle, constant checking up on my condition. I found myself on the defensive, explaining that even if my temperature had risen to 102 and there was a more pronounced rattle upon inhalation, it did not mean the pleurisy was growing worse. In came down to the point where we held an argument punctuated by verbatim quotes from the medical text Holmes had "borrowed" from me. At long last he was forced to concede that my lack of cough and lack of growing pleural effusion (2) were welcomed signs.

That did not mean he gave in willingly. I knew Victor Lynch was to be released from prison the next day and that Holmes had seriously considered attending with his former protegee's family. I also knew that the pleurisy plaguing me had raised doubts for him as to whether he should leave Baker Street or not.

It was fortunate I had won the debate on Thursday because by Friday morning I was feeling a change for the worse. The shortness of breath and pressure about my chest had increased and I was fairly certain the fever had risen. Nevertheless, I knew it would be therapeutic for Holmes and Victor Lynch to meet once more. I would not be the factor that kept this reunion from happening. Sternly I ordered Holmes to leave for the prison. To my surprise, he obeyed, albeit with a few sardonic remarks and an apathetic manner.

Once Holmes had left, I set about evaluating my condition. The fever had indeed risen to just under 103. Moreover, I did not like to speculate as to why I was experiencing such pain and dyspnea when I continued to display relatively few signs of effusion around my left lung. Then, too, I did not know what to make of the lack of cough. Finally I put aside conjecture in favor of necessity and prepared a dose of potassium iodide.


(1) UPDATE: According to the book Pneumonia: Its Causes, Forms, and Treatments by Octavius Sturges and Sidney Coupland, published in London in 1890, the Fahrenheit thermometer was used in medicine in Victorian England. For the metric users out there, 101.3 F is about 38.5 C.

(2) Effusion is an accumulation of excessive fluid. Pleural effusion is an accumulation of fluid between the pleural membrane and the lung, creating friction. (Hence the reason inhaling hurts like heck when you have pleurisy.) Dyspnea is difficulty breathing. . . . I read medical records at work; does it show?

Yet another author's note: concerning the roots of this story (KCS's "A Battle" and "Blinking") yes, all will be explained. Watson's *present* lack of coughing included.