"Something smells good!" I called as I entered the house and headed straight to the washroom.

"Shut your gob!" Came the swift and familiar, if uncouth, retort.

"I'm not actually asleep right now." I heard someone defend me wearily. I checked the bottle in the washroom automatically, but found no notes beneath. Caring for the Doctor was keeping my wife busy.

"You're resting." Came the reminder. "You need peace so you can recover."

"No sense arguing with her!" I called as I cleaned up. Lizzie wouldn't let me set foot anywhere else in the house until I was 'somewhat clean.'

"I heard that!" My wife called back. "I know you said the couch is comfortable-"

"Not that comfortable!" I retorted. I was gratified to hear the Doctor's laugh, though it was only a shadow of what it had been in the past. As much as I hated flaunting our relationship in front of people, if it did the man good-

He had been with us for almost a week now, and it had frightened me that so far he had not raised any more fuss about being here than a weary remark about not wanting to impose that my wife had quickly dismissed as a ridiculous notion.

Doctor Watson's colleague Dr. Anstruther had agreed to take care of making sure the Doctor's practice was seen to while he was ill. I got the feeling that he too felt guilty about not keeping a closer eye on Doctor Watson. He had assured me that the practice would be cared for until the Doctor was well enough to return to it, and not to let the man worry about it.

Under my wife's strict care, the man had been getting plenty of rest and food, and seemed to be recovering well, at least physically. Mentally he still seemed a shadow of a person, a ghost, and I wondered that I had not noticed it before.

Then again, I had been too busy rousing the wrath of the newspapers with Gregson to attend the funeral, though Hopkins had said the Doctor had looked terrible.

I wondered if Doctor Watson had realized the two of us had not been at the funeral. I did not doubt that he would not have mentioned it if he had, but sometimes I wondered.

"Shoes!" My wife called. How did she even know I hadn't changed them, anyway?

"I didn't forget!" I called back irritably. I was tired, and sore. "I'll clean it up, love, I swear!"

"Hands bothering you?" Doctor Watson inquired as I all but fell into the armchair. I indulged in a long, weary sigh. I was glad the day was over.

"Idiot drunk was looking for a fight." I grumbled, to irritated to bother being polite in my own home. "Either to dumb or too drunk to recognize that I was an Inspector. He staggered over and started remarking on my size, and my stride, I guess he noticed it was a little off when I came in. When I just ignored him he picked up his cane and brought them down across my hands where I had them on the table." The Doctor winced in sympathy.

"And then?" He asked.

"And then I turned around, removed the cane from his possession, and clapped a pair of derbies on him. Then I introduced myself as Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Turned white as a sheet."

The Doctor snorted. "You let him go?"

"With a stern warning not to go causing any more trouble." I replied, flexing my fingers painfully. "Wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't been abusing them in that fight yesterday." I admitted.

Watson smiled, a little, and rose up off the couch. "Let me see." He said, briskly, his manner more like his old self at the idea of treating someone. I let him, mostly because I was too tired not to. But I was thinking, now.

"You are not supposed to be up." My wife scolded, banishing the Doctor back to the couch. "Stick your feet out, love."

"You're cooking." I protested. Lizzie rolled her eyes.

"Olivia is fourteen now, and fully capable of minding the kitchen." She informed me as she started unlacing my shoes. She wrinkled her nose as she pulled them off and went to set them by the door.

"My other pair, please." I called. I knew better.

"I don't know why you bother owning a pair of slippers." She complained.

"Because my family seems to think I need them." I retorted. "I made the mistake of wearing slippers once."

"I remember." She said quietly as she brought my other pair over.

"Thank you." I said as she finished. She smiled, and headed for the washroom.

The Doctor once again had that lost look. I took a breath to steady myself. "You miss your practice." I said. He looked up at me, startled.

"Yes." He said finally. "It gave me something to do. Distracted me." He confessed. "Made me tired enough to sleep for a few hours."

"You look healthier." I said awkwardly. "But less at peace."

He sighed. We were on unfamiliar territory now. "I'm lost." He confessed. "I'm fine while I'm busy. But as soon as I got home…"

"It was empty. And not just the house. Everything was." I remembered that feeling. I was glad it hadn't lasted.

Doctor Watson swallowed. "How did you keep from going crazy?" He asked.

I didn't answer. I had clung desperately to the hope that it wouldn't last. That we would get her back.

"Your children." He finally said. "You had to stay strong for them." I nodded.

"Beyond that, I have the job." I confessed. "I would have thrown myself into it, I suppose. There's always one more case."

The Doctor was looking thoughtful.

A knock sounded on the door, and a second later Inspector Bradstreet tumbled in. "Trouble, Inspector. Another body's been found, though this one's not quite dead yet."

I was out of my chair in an instant, and throwing apologies at my wife. "Go on." She said mildly. "We'll keep supper warm for you."

The Doctor was looking lost again as I grabbed my coat and hat. On impulse, I tossed his coat to him. "We may need a hand." I said. "Are you up to it?"

He was up and across the room in seconds. It was more life than he had shown in the entire week.

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes does not belong to me.