When I had finished reassuring my wife and sent her off to sleep a while, I went back to my patient, only to find that Holmes' eyes were open, glittering in the slowly increasing light. He studied me with languid interest. "What did she mean?" he asked, his voice soft with confusion. "Are you lost?"
"It's nothing, Holmes," I told him, checking his fever and pulse. "I'm right here." I did not think him awake enough yet for the tale.
But his gaze sharpened suddenly and he lifted a hand to touch the bruises on my neck. "You've been hurt."