Author's note: Here's chapter 2, since several people wanted a continuation and an idea for it came to me this morning. Hope you enjoy; reviews and constructive criticism most welcome, as always!

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I awoke the next morning feeling marginally better. The throbbing headache had diminished in intensity, and the nausea had subsided. I opened my eyes to find Sherlock Holmes sitting in a chair by my bed watching me with a small smile on his face. Several morning newspapers were piled at his feet. I sat up in bed and licked at my dry lips, and immediately Holmes poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the bedside table and handed the glass to me. As I sipped the water, I marveled at how much more considerate he has become in the years we've known each other; I liked to flatter myself that I had some small influence on him in that regard.

"Watson?" he ventured, still watching me so intently as if afraid I would disappear at any moment.

"Yes?"

"Do you feel up to talking?"

"Of course; go on."

Holmes said nothing for several minutes, lacing and unlacing his long fingers and studying them with such intensity as if he had never seen them before.

"Well?" I finally inquired. "What deductions can you draw from your hands?"

He gave his usual quirk of a smile at that.

"My apologies, Watson…it appears I am having more difficulty broaching the topic than I anticipated."

Needless to say, I was taken aback…Holmes, hesitant to speak his mind?!

"Just go ahead and say it," I suggested gently. "Surely we've known each other long enough to be able to discuss just about anything?"

"Very well. I remarked once, half in jest, that I am lost without my Boswell. I have come to realize, over the years, that I meant it more than I thought…" he broke off as his voice cracked.

"Holmes, are you attempting to say that for the past two weeks, you've been worrying that I would not recover?"

The look on his face was answer enough.

"Holmes, how many times have you been injured on a case or disregarded your own health so as to aid a client? I do not believe you have done these things only because you love the mental stimulation your work provides. I have sworn an oath to help those who come to me to the best of my ability. The relationship of patient and doctor is a sacred trust…I cannot take it lightly when I hold someone's life or at least good health in my hands. I cannot refuse to treat a patient for fear of infection, especially a child…for I know how it feels when you lose a child…" here my own voice broke.

Holmes, on the other hand, seemed to have regained his usual control over his emotions.

"My apologies, Watson. I did not intend to distress you. I know you whole-heartedly believe what you have just said. I remember your emphatic remark when I told you to keep away for fear of deadly contagion in the Culverton Smith case: "Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me for an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger." I was merely attempting to say, as you correctly surmised, that I was…well, why mince words between such old friends? I was deathly afraid you would not recover…I cannot express to you how relieved I am that you will."

"And one thing more," he added, thoughtfully tapping a finger against his lips. "Notwithstanding what you've just said—and I can certainly understand your sentiments, even if I do not always agree with them—I beg you not to take unnecessary risks. I truly would be lost without my Boswell."

We shared a glance of perfect understanding…no further words were necessary.