After being persuaded by Mary, Doctor Watson decided to sleep in his own bedroom, instead of the guest room to keep an eye on Holmes. Of course, since the chance of a setback was small, Doctor Watson slept easily that night and never did hear Holmes call for assistance.
The next morning, Doctor Watson decided to check on Holmes; he was horrified by how fast Holmes' condition had deteriorated. His skin had become as pale as sheet, and cold to the touch, his eyes were red and slightly swollen, and the bandages covering his wound were stained with blood. It was no wonder that Holmes never asked for assistance during the night; he most likely had been drained of the strength to do so.
Doctor Watson felt Holmes' forehead, and felt the sensation as if his fingers were on fire; Holmes had developed a fever overnight.
"Holmes, it's Watson. Can you hear me?" asked Doctor Watson.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The only sound was the labored breathing of a sickly Holmes. Doctor Watson feared the worst and assumed that his good friend had become comatose.
"Holmes please," Doctor Watson could hear his voice beginning to break. "I need to you to open your eyes, ol' boy. For a moment, please."
Slowly, but surely, Holmes opened his eyes and looked at Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson gave a half-hearted smile and took his hand in his own. With what strength he had, Holmes was able to squeeze his friend's hand.
"I...I trust it's morning." whispered Holmes.
"That's of little importance. I have to examine your wound, so try to keep calm." said Doctor Watson.
Holmes nodded slowly and Doctor Watson slowly began to unwrap the bandages. He saw that the stitches from the wound had split and blood was covering the entire wound, and the skin from the wound was turning a dark black. These were sure signs of infection. Mary, wearing her morning robe, came into the room and was taken aback by the sight of Holmes.
"Mary, find my bag and fetch a roll of bandages, I also require a pitcher filled with water and a dry cloth, hurry!" ordered Doctor Watson.
Mary rushed from the room, and Doctor Watson gently pressed his hand against the wound, in an effort to stop the bleeding. He knew that Holmes was in a great deal of pain, and that he was, most-likely, contributing to it; still he knew this would be the only way to help him for the time being.
After a few moments, Mary returned with a pitcher, a cloth, and some bandages. She stayed with Holmes as Doctor Watson prepared everything. First, he took the pitcher and poured its water into a basin, and began soaking the cloth in it. Once the cloth had absorbed enough water, he carried it over to Holmes and began to clean the wound carefully.
"He seems so sick, John. What's happened?" asked Mary.
"The damn wound has become infected. It has to be cleaned now or else the infection will only spread and worsen his condition." said Doctor Watson.
"I don't understand, he seemed so healthy before." said Mary.
"It's my doing. If only I had stayed with him, then I could have kept a closer watch on his health."
"Why blame yourself over the inevitable?" asked Mary.
"The only thing I can be sure of is that I cannot leave Holmes until he's made a complete recovery." said Doctor Watson.
Mary sighed and left Doctor Watson alone to take care of Holmes. After cleaning the wound, Doctor Watson restitched it and bandaged it again. After awhile, Holmes began to shiver uncontrollably, almost as if he were laying in a pile-of-snow. Doctor Watson covered him with a blanket, and used his hand to brush back Holmes' hair that had become soaked with sweat.
"You mustn't worry, ol' boy. I'm not leaving you again." whispered Doctor Watson.