"He'll be fine." Lizzie said as she sat down by me. "He's just overreached himself. He's overworked, hasn't been taking care of himself, got exposed to a minor cold from one of his patients and couldn't fight it off." She glared at me, as if I should know exactly what she was talking about.
Which I did. She had accused me of the same sort of foolishness a number of times. "He'll be all right, though." I said.
My wife sighed. "He's grief stricken, and using work to distract himself from the pain. He'll kill himself if he's not careful." She looked me dead in the eye. "He needs someone to keep an eye on him, especially while he's recovering from this."
I knew what she was saying. I groaned, and immediately felt guilty for it. "If you think so, love." I told her.
"I do. He doesn't need to be alone." She considered. "But let him sleep while he can. Stop by after work, Giles, and we'll take him home then."
"He won't like this." I cautioned. My wife merely looked at me.
"Does that matter?" She asked.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Not with you." I replied. "Never with you. I'll be back before you know it."
"Leave a note that the practice will be closed for a while." She said as I stood to go.
"I shall pay a visit to one of Doctor Watson's colleagues." I informed her. "I'm sure he would be glad to help."
She nodded, and smiled sadly as her mind went back to the Doctor's situation. "I didn't know there were two of you." She mused. "We should have kept in touch after her death, Giles."
"Don't I know it." I agreed wholeheartedly, swallowing my guilt as I prepared to leave. "Take good care of him, Lizzie."
"You do your job, Inspector," she teased lightly, "and leave me to do mine."
I sighed as I stepped out onto the street. I should have been watching for something like this.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes does not belong to me.