I will never forget the lost, abandoned look on Lestrade's face as we left him with the barmaid after that second pint.
An hour later he came home, he informed us in a clipped tone that yes, he had spoken with her, no, she hadn't said anything new of consequence to the case, and yes, he had fixed a date with her the following afternoon.
Holmes, of course, still wanted a full report of everything said, though he was answered, merely, by a tired look from Lestrade who wnet off to bed, obviously fed up with conversation after his afternoon with the young barmaid.
Me and Holmes looked at eachother keenly as he left, and, for a while, it was the topic of all conversation between us, but, as the hours ticked on, he started to look wary, "How has your sleep been Watson?" he questioned, inadvertently reopening that very subject, neither of us were very keen on.
"I am sorry Holmes, I can't think what could be causing this." I lied; I was certain it was linked to these 'whisperers'.
"Not at all, my friend." He sighed, "Not at all."
His eyes seemed suddenly to become rather more tired than before and he slouched in his chair, yawning.
"One thing I do know." I started, the change in his body language was almost instant, eyes alert, leaning forward, "Is that it seems to have worsened ever since you took up this case."
"What seems to have worsened?" Holmes asked, his voice shrill with excitement.
"Oh, the whispering, it's yelling now." I yawned, "It's awful."
And then everything went dark, and they returned.