There was a quiet confidence in his voice. It was not only his acknowledgement of my sympathy but a reassurance that he was all right, that the situation was all right. I rebelled at the thought of accepting such an utterly wrong situation, though it was clear Watson already had. Indeed, what other choice was there? The past could not be changed. Some ghosts did not rest quietly. Last night had proven that.

However, this morning showed there was a way to exorcise the demons in Watson's past, if only I could find the right tools to help him do so. But what tools, and how to go about finding them? Utterly out of my element, I collapsed into my chair. "How can you bear it, Watson?"

He shrugged, understanding my meaning without asking for clarification. "What are my alternatives?" he asked mildly.

Madness. Drink. Narcotics. Suicide.

The unspoken words hung between us. For all I knew, Watson had teetered on the edge of such things before I met him. I feared hearing the truth – I, a detective, sworn to seek out the truth no matter the price. I wanted all to be right with him; as long as I did not know otherwise, I could pretend the calm exterior he presented was more than surface-deep.

Our friendship would never survive if it were but a false front. For the sake of the partnership, I had to put aside my own selfish desires. I looked at him, steeling my nerve to speak, when Watson flung off the blanket and moved to his chair so as to be closer to me.

"Holmes." He leaned forward, intense in both his posture and his tone. "It is not nearly as bad as you think."

I stared at him, pulling to my aid all my powers of observation. Watson appeared wholly sincere but could I believe what he said? I wanted to, desperately. Yet if I took him at his word and he was wrong . . . I shuddered to think of the consequences.

He sighed, apparently taking my silence for disbelief. "Truly, Holmes. Wounds heal. They may scar but they heal. And time, as they say, is a great healer." Watson paused, then said softly. "I had to learn how to live during war. I had to relearn how to live during peace. It took some time, I admit it. On occasion I was convinced it was an impossible task. A few demons I don't think shall ever be vanquished." He gave me a quick, rueful smile and gestured slightly towards the fireplace. "But you have no idea how much working with you on cases helped."

I gave a start. Was he joking? "You'll forgive me, I trust, if I say it seems paradoxical that putting you in danger – mortal danger, occasionally – helped you recover from living in mortal danger." I hoped I was able to convey a slight touch of irony in my voice.

Watson smiled, so apparently I had achieved my goal. "Ah, but you forget. This time I am in situations of mortal danger by choice, not by compulsion. This time the aim is justice, not political advantages."

I nodded slowly. "I think I understand." Despite the danger of our work, there is always a choice. We were never commanded to put our lives in danger, either of us. Watson had the power to decline accompanying me. That he never did so was beside the point; it was a matter of control, an element so often lacking in warfare. And the romantic streak in my friend surely responded to the idea of knight-errands of old, upholding the noble pursuits and triumphing over the powers of evil. Yes, I understood. "But it must have been difficult for you, in the beginning."

I watched Watson immediately formulate a denial and then change his mind even as he drew breath to answer. "Sometimes."

"How bad?" I asked him again. I realized, with all the glory of hindsight, how utterly oblivious I had been. It was too late to take back anything I might have done but I had to know the degree of damage I had caused. Only then could I ensure against falling into old habits.

Watson surprised me by smiling and leaning back in his chair. "It was not the danger that was hard to bear. It was small, innocuous things that caught me unawares and triggered memories."

Appropriately, his statement triggered a memory of my own. "When was the last time?"

"The last time for what?"

"You said early this morning that the last . . . regression . . . was more than ten years ago. I don't recall it." It was bitter to admit this.

"That is because you were not there at the time," Watson said simply. I felt a rush of relief before he continued, falling into his familiar role of storyteller. "It was between Christmas of '84 and New Year's of '85. I don't recall where you were but Mrs. Hudson had decided to bake loaves of bread to donate to some charities. The smell of baking bread was overpowering and inescapable." He laughed. "And the look she gave me when I asked her to kindly keep her baking to a minimum in the future!"

"The smell of baking bread?" I asked, not daring yet to be amused as Watson was.

"Enteric fever. The patient gives off an odor of yeast."

I could feel a smile start. "You are joking."

"No, not at all. And after experiencing a ward full of such patients at the hottest part of the day, to say nothing of being one such patient . . ."

Now I laughed, despite myself. "Is that also the reason I have never seen you partake of beer?" I asked, suddenly making the connection.

Watson looked thoroughly amazed. "I cannot believe you took note of that," he laughed, "but yes, that is the reason."

I found myself smiling too, until I realized how neatly he had changed the subject and then distracted me to keep me from returning to my original question. Hidden fires indeed! I never get my Watson's limits. "And what is the reason you have avoided telling me what difficulties you faced when we first began investigating cases together?"

Watson sobered immediately and straightened in his chair but did not hesitate to answer. "Because it would serve no useful purpose, Holmes. Whatever difficulties I faced have been overcome already. Why should you wish to revisit them?"

"So that I may avoid creating them in the future!" I exclaimed. I knew of no other way to make amends, not only for yesterday's disaster but my neglect of the past. Why could I not make him see? "It is no reflection on you, Watson, but I – " I swallowed hard. "I should not want you to suffer in the future because of my negligence."

"There is no danger of that," Watson insisted gently. "That you are even concerned about such things tells me so. Holmes, how can I convince you?"

Slowly, I said, "I believe you already have." It was close enough to the truth that I felt no twinges of my conscience. I was still not entirely convinced of my abilities to live up to his confidence in me, but I would try. As would he. There were a few demons left from his past – he had admitted it plainly – but I believed Watson was right when he said such incidences were rare. At any rate, we would confront them together.

Watson leaned back again. "And perhaps someday Afghanistan will be far enough in the past that I will be able to speak of it as freely as I can of India. I never told you how Colonel Hayter and I met, for example." A faint smile played on his lips. "I suppose he could tell you the story as well as I, though I imagine he should be more loath than I to speak of it."

"I imagine there is much to tell that neither of you are ready to speak of yet," I said quietly.

Watson inclined his head in acknowledgement. "If you can spare my presence for little while, I may pay him a visit. It has been years since the Reigate puzzle and I would not be averse to seeing some old acquaintances again."

I nodded as encouragingly as I could. It would be a simple task to perform but, at long last, there was something I could do for him.