Holmes carefully lifted his friend onto the couch. Watson's face was deathly pale, and there was a bluish tinge to his lips. Holmes took one of the doctor's hands in his; though the fingers were icy cold, a cursory touch of his forehead confirmed what Holmes had feared – Watson was feverish, and he was audibly wheezing for breath.

"Good Lord…" Holmes felt his chest tighten in sympathy, as that hated feeling of helplessness settled around him like a blanket of despair.

Forcing himself to act, Holmes shot to his feet, dived out of the room, and returned moments later with a blanket torn from his own bed. He cast this quickly over Watson, and was rewarded with a low groan. He quickly retrieved Watson's black leather bag from beside the door, as the stricken man forced his way back to consciousness, coughing, turning his head away as he did so.

"Oh, Watson," Holmes sighed, as his friend blinked up at him in hazy confusion, "confound my own stupidity. Why did you not tell me that you were becoming so grievously ill?"

"I… I did not realise myself, until we got the cab home," Watson gasped, his face contorting slightly in pain as one hand flicked involuntarily to clutch his chest, "so… sorry, old chap… you could have had him…"

"I will have him, Watson, in my own time," Holmes promised, reaching into the medical bag and pulling out a thermometer, "doctor, I must insist…"

Watson reluctantly took the thermometer, and then handed it back to Holmes a few minutes later. 101f. Holmes frowned.

"I should summon one of your fellow medicos," he said, sternly, "Do you have anything that you can take for this?"

Watson made a gasping, wheezing sound; Holmes started forwards in concern, and then he realised that the doctor was laughing, breathlessly.

"You… you broke my new bottle," Watson replied, pointing to the sticky substance Holmes was even now endeavouring to wipe from his hands with a handkerchief, "No, no – don't look like that… it was worth it…"

"Is it true, what Buckhannon said? You have bronchitis?"

"I… I suspect so," Watson wheezed, shakily, "It… it is not as… serious… as it seems. Merely… uncomfortable…"

He moved as if to sit up, but Holmes carefully pushed him back down, alarmed at how weak his friend appeared.

"Mrs Hudson…" Watson rasped.

"I will check on her," Holmes promised, "rest a moment, Watson… I will summon another doctor as soon as I am able to…"

"Not… necessary…" Watson breathed, but his eyes were already drifting shut.

Holmes hesitated for a long moment, listening to Watson's laboured breathing, before he ducked downstairs. He knocked on the door to Mrs Hudson's chamber, and listened for a long moment. There was no answer, but the sound of deep, even breathing was just about discernable. Loathe to enter a woman's chamber at all – let alone when the good lady was asleep inside – he was satisfied that Mrs Hudson was in good health and would probably awaken soon, with little more than a mild headache.

Heading slowly back up the stairs, Holmes was mentally cursing himself for allowing such a creature as Buckhannon to best him not once, but twice – and in the same day! He pushed the sitting room door open, and found Watson – the stubborn fool – trying to stand up, his face terribly pale, and visibly trembling.

"Watson – do sit down, for goodness' sake," Holmes told him, firmly, crossing the room with three long strides to push the other man back onto the settee, "Really, my dear fellow; shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Not with that madman out there," Watson shuddered, before turning his head away, smothering a hacking cough in his handkerchief, "I… I ought to check on Mrs Hudson…"

"She is merely sleeping," Holmes assured his friend, reaching out and momentarily resting his hand on the doctor's forehead, "You are feverish, Watson – you need to rest. You will be of no use to me if you push yourself to exhaustion… no, there is no need to attempt the stairs – the settee is comfortable enough. Sleep – I will send a message to Lestrade…"

Holmes waited until Watson acquiesced, before he went to the window. A glance down the street and a sharp whistle attracted the attention of one of the grubby Irregulars, whom Holmes dispatched to fetch both the Inspector, and a doctor…

~*~