I had settled myself at the urging of my friend Sherlock Holmes in the comfortable chair before the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street. I had stopped in at my former quarters at the conclusion of a professional visit in the near neighbourhood, taking the opportunity to see what cases had consumed my friend's interests since the last time I had had occasion to see him. A series of morning papers lay piled to the side of the sofa, but the pages were unmarked, so I knew that whatever problems were consuming his active mind did not relate to the most recent events.

"You have been busy these past weeks in the east of the city, have you not?" asked Holmes, finally turning from his chemistry equipment to survey me. He had just been concluding an experiment when I was shown up and had gestured distractedly for me to take his customary seat. I had sat in silence, warming myself by the roaring fire as he finished his work.

"I suppose that you have deduced that from the spatters of mud on my shoes?" inquired I, familiar with his methods.

"Your newest housemaid is much too careful a creature for me to have made that observation," replied Holmes, crossing over to the window. "No, my dear Watson, my deductions were not based on the mud of your shoes. And as you have been in this area all day, the mud on your trousers could not have yielded up that information to me."

"Well, what then?" demanded I. I was sure that there was nothing on my person that could have led him to that conclusion.

"You are a man of habit, Watson," Holmes told me. "You have not been past in several weeks, for you are in the habit of stopping when you are near enough, and when times are slow for you in your practice, you often make excuse to visit. So I may deduce that you have been busy in other parts of the city."

"Simple enough," said I. "But what of the east part of the city if you cannot observe mud spatters on my shoes?"

"That information comes to me through the papers," Holmes informed me. "You must have been busier than I had initially concluded if you have not had the time to read them."

I sighed.

"Did you not wonder why I motioned for you to take the comfortable chair?" inquired Holmes, wandering over to the window. "Even if I had not been able to make the previous deductions, I could see by the drawn nature of your brow that it has not been an easy time for you since last we met. I would have been sorely remiss to have forced you to take any but that chair, close by the fire."

"This is yet another time that I am grateful for your foresight," I told Holmes, passing a hand over the brow that had revealed so much of my state. Physicians from various parts of London had all been called in to the east to help contain a rapidly spreading illness.

"My dear Watson," said Holmes with concern, turning from the window. "I had not realized that things were so bad as that."

"The authorities were anxious not to have the true danger spread for fear of causing a panic," revealed I. "It was only very narrowly that we managed to contain the epidemic entirely to the eastern quarter of the city. There were fears that it would sweep the city."

"I had suspicions of as much," admitted Holmes. "The newspaper reports of the situation were much lacking in sensational details. Which, of course, led me to the simple deduction that the details were too sensational for even our reporters to report."

I nodded, completely worn out with the events of the past weeks. It was only by seeing my customary patients late at night and early in the morning that I had been able to keep from completely neglecting my practice.

"Have you eaten?" inquired Holmes. "Mrs Hudson has not yet brought up my dinner and by making it a supper, I am sure that she can be convinced to add an extra plate for you."

"I would be grateful," said I. "My wife is visiting in the country and Anna Marie, the housemaid who takes such care with my boots, is in the custom of only setting out a cold plate for me, so late have I been in returning home lately." In fact, I had been kept busy enough that I had not even had the chance to make the small preparations necessary for me to retake my habitation with Holmes, as was my general custom when my wife was not at home.

Holmes nodded and immediately started for the stairs, to inform the landlady of the change in plans. Even in only the short time that Holmes was absent from the room, I very nearly fall asleep before the warm fire.

But I started awake when I heard Holmes come bounding up the stairs in an excitable fashion that was usually quite unlike my friend. "My dear doctor," said Sherlock Holmes earnestly, "I will have to ask you to vacate that chair and draw yourself another close to the fire."

I sprang immediately up out of the chair, all traces of weariness gone from my body. I knew Holmes well enough to know that he would not begrudge me the seat, and my experiences in Afghanistan had prepared me sufficiently to instantly rouse myself to full wakefulness when it was necessary. Holmes did not say anything to indicate it, but rather drawing up a chair, I moved instead to my medical bag, standing in the corner where I had placed it upon entering.

Holmes noted my action with a nod of approval before bounding back down the stairs. "We have a new client," he called back over his swiftly retreating shoulder.

My brow furrowed in confusion. Never had I seen him so anxious to greet a client before, always previously trusting either the landlady or the page-boy to show the visitors up. Either this client was exceedingly well known, or there was some other reason for Holmes's actions.

When he reappeared in the door to the sitting room, I was instantly shown the reason for his haste. Our visitor was a lady, of no more than five and twenty, but one that I was surprised to see travelling about, especially alone. I immediately hurried to her, helping Holmes aid her to the chair that I had so recently abandoned.

Although she was plainly dressed, her attire was not of the common working class, and I would rather have hazarded that the severity of her dress was as a result of her condition rather than for any other reason. She was in a quite delicate state, and, although I could not be entirely certain, I was quite sure that she should have entered her period of confinement some weeks ago.

"Holmes," I snapped out efficiently, "fetch us up some tea from Mrs Hudson." It was a cool, wet day, and I had no intention of allowing her to catch a chill.

It was quite the reversal of roles for the two of us; usually Sherlock Holmes was in control of the situation while I gave him my aid however I could best. But this was a case in which I felt quite justified in taking things up in hand. Obviously my friend felt the same, for he immediately acted upon my instructions.

"I assure you, Mr Holmes," protested our visitor, pressing a hand to her side, "that I am quite all right. You need not trouble yourself."

But Holmes had already vanished from the room and I hovered near her. "Nonsense," said I. "It is no trouble at all. I am Doctor Watson, and my friend Sherlock Holmes will return in just a moment."

"I thank you, doctor," she sighed, drawing her veil back from her face and leaning back into the chair. I was glad to see that she appeared to be no worse for the journey, but still had my concerns about her state. "I am exceedingly grateful for your presence."

I started, taking half a step toward my bag in the corner. I did not usually carry it with me in this area, but with the business of the past weeks, I had brought it with me on the chance that I would have need of it.

She laughed, a musical sound that helped to relieve some of my worries. "Oh, no, doctor," she protested, stretching out a thin hand to me, "not in that way. Please, calm yourself."

I stopped in my path, turning to look at her. Her face was slightly pale, but her complexion was not sickly. I assumed that it was from the chill and felt I would rest much easier once she had had something warm to drink, although it was not the general case for women in that way. Her features were pleasant enough, although she was obviously troubled with something. But then if she were not troubled with something serious, she would not have sought out Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes himself was back upstairs only a moment later, bearing aloft a tray of good china cups and a steaming pot of tea. He poured one for our guest, and I was happy to see the tea emerge from the pot strong and dark. I would be a good sight more comfortable once some colour had returned to the lady's pale face.

"Mr Holmes," she started, her voice firm, "I have come to you on a matter…"

I interrupted. "Surely the matter can wait until such time as you have had something to drink," urged I in a voice that left no room for argument, not even from the astute mind of Holmes, should he have had reason to object.

But Holmes appeared to have none and poured cups of the brew for both himself and for me. I drew up a chair, quite close to that of the visiting lady, and accepted the cup from Holmes. He had prepared it in the fashion that I was accustomed to take it, our period of shared accommodation having acquainted him intimately with many of my habits.

I should have much preferred a brandy as a restorative to tea, but my medical instincts cautioned me that the restorative properties of the tea would have to suffice for the lady's condition, and my sense of propriety would not allow me to take brandy when our visitor was offered only tea. Holmes, I was quite sure, would also have rather had brandy, but he too contented himself with a steaming cup of the brew.