Lestrade again:
I'd wondered often enough if Holmes hadn't been a-using cocaine of late, so I can't say as I was shocked that he'd come up with some of it from his pocket. More surprised, I'd say, that he was willing to admit as much in front of a roomful of folk that didn't know him the way that Dr. Watson and I do. I can't say as I'm sure that Sir Henry or the groom caught on, Dr. Mortimer knew what was what -- his back went as stiff as the poker from the fireside. But he poured the stuff onto a pocket handkerchief and held it against Watson's arm and by God it did the trick. Made me wish there were enough left to pour on my head to watch the pain leave the Doctor's face like that.
He's a hard cold man, Sherlock Holmes, and if he looked at the world the same way as the rest of us I doubt as he'd be a genius. Takes on cases as makes even the most hardened of us Scotland Yarders want to run home and hide under the covers, and God knows we've each of us got our ways of shuffling off the horrors of the job. With me it's my wife and kids, but Holmes is no more likely to marry than he is to fly to the moon. If cocaine's what keeps him from cracking like a block of ice then he can have it for all of me, I decided, and knew then and there that I wasn't going to be asking. He could have been carrying it for the doctor, since Watson's medical kit was back with our luggage in the stand of trees near Merripit House, and that was a good enough excuse as any.
The thought of my luggage, and my nightshirt still in it reminded me that we had things to do before we could rest. I looked again at Holmes and knew my mind had been a-wandering, for he'd closed his eyes and was holding his jaw tight shut to keep his teeth from chattering, though his hand was still on Watson's shoulder. "How are we going to get fresh clothes tonight?" I asked him. "Our bags are still over where we left them."
Holmes started and blinked at me. "I'll go and fetch them," he said.
But Watson brought up his unhurt hand and caught Holmes' wrist. "No. I forbid it. You'll stay and get clean and warm. Even if it means wrapping up in a blanket afterwards. I mean it, Holmes. I haven't the strength to deal with you and pneumonia too."
For a moment I thought he'd struck the same spark into the gunpowder as Holmes had when he'd forbid him to fetch out Sir Henry, and I held my breath, waiting for Holmes to explode. But only for a moment. Holmes was too cold for anger. He freed his wrist gently enough and smiled down at the wounded man. "If you insist, Watson," he said. "I can't say that I was looking forward to the ride."