"He's WHAT?" He was vaguely aware that his voice had risen at least six pitches but was too distracted to wonder upon the anomaly.
"It spiked again when you spoke," the physician replied excitedly, scribbling on the clipboard. "He's never had a fluctuation in pulse before, Mr. Holmes. It's the sound of your voice that's causing the change…Constance, I believe a chair might be in order for Mr. Holmes…"
Stupefied, he sank into its depths, staring at the figure under the coverlet, unable to comprehend that, after so long, there was a change.
"Mr. Holmes," the physician said kindly. "I need you to listen to me for a moment."
He blinked and sat up.
"While I believe he can hear you, it may possibly be that he only recognises your voice – your tone, or your presence. He may not actually comprehend the words you speak. In other words, do not be alarmed if, when he awakes, he does not remember anything you may have said."
Holmes paid little heed, for whatever he had said could always be re-said. His mind had just realised that, for the first time, this physician had said when instead of if.
Fifteen minutes later, the occupants of Mr. Mycroft Holmes's outer office gawped as the inner sanctum suddenly erupted into an exclamation that shook the building.