Holmes kicked open the door to the living room, and was met with a wonderful blast of warmth from the fire, which blazed mightily in the hearth. It made him realise just how frozen to the bone he really was. He also realised that he was exhausted; his powerful skills of observation all but gone – he had only just realised the presence of another, an elderly gentleman with a white moustache and a mane of silvery-grey hair, who rose from the couch to meet them.
"My dear fellow, you must be Mr Holmes," the man rumbled, in a deep baritone; "I am Dr. Knightsbury, police surgeon and private Harley Street practitioner. Quickly, lay that poor chap down on the bed through here…"
Holmes obeyed wordlessly, too spent to speak, not caring to point out that it was his bedroom that the doctor had indicated. For Watson's sake, he would have given it up without a thought.
"H-Holmes?" Watson rasped, raising his head slightly.
"Hush, Watson, it is all over now. We are home," Holmes murmured to him, keeping one of the doctor's arms over Holmes's own shoulders, as the detective led him through to the adjoining room, "it's time for you to rest now…"
They both staggered through to the bedroom, and Holmes carefully set Watson down on the bed, assisted by Knightsbury. The older doctor assessed his patient quickly, and turned piercing blue eyes on Holmes.
"Dear fellow, you are freezing and fit to collapse," the doctor declared; "do go and change into some warm clothes, sit by the fire, and drink some tea. I will see to you more fully later."
"Just see to Watson," Holmes replied, fighting back the exhaustion, "is he…?"
"I will speak to you later," the doctor replied, firmly, pressing a dressing gown into Holmes's hands and pushing him gently but insistently out of the door, "leave him to me. I will call you in shortly. Now go and warm up!"
Ejected from the room, Holmes was too stunned to argue. Lestrade was already ensconced in Watson's usual armchair, wrapped in a blanket and sipping hot tea, as Mrs Hudson looked on approvingly. Holmes soon found himself similarly cocooned with blankets and tea, as his erstwhile landlady fussed over them both like a mother over her errant sons.
Lestrade soon nodded off, dozing in the warmth of the fire, so much appreciated after their swim in the freezing cellar. Holmes certainly had not intended to get so comfortable, and he definitely had no intention of following Lestrade's example. He was therefore most annoyed with himself when he found himself being awoken by a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry to wake you, Mr Holmes," Mrs Hudson said, withdrawing her hand quickly, "but Dr. Knightsbury wanted to see you…"
Holmes had bolted from the chair before she had even finished speaking, casting aside the blankets hastily. Mrs Hudson sighed, reaching down to pick them up again, hanging them over a drying rack in front of the fire to warm them again. Lestrade showed no indication of stirring, so she smiled, and left him to his rest.
~*~