Holmes bit back a retort at the impossibility of such a ridiculous notion, as he realised that Watson was again drifting into unconsciousness.
"Watson!" he snapped, as harshly as he could, "You must stay awake!"
Hating himself for doing so, Holmes grasped Watson's uninjured arm firmly, and pulled him quickly into a seated position. Watson was still shivering, uncontrollably, and he seemed unable to focus properly on anything.
"Watson!" Holmes gave him a gentle shake, and this prompted the doctor to look up.
"Holmes?" he murmured, confused, "What the devil-?"
"You are suffering from hypothermia, my dear doctor," Holmes said, slowly, "you must remain conscious."
"Don't... don't be... ridiculous," Watson slurred, "just...just let me sleep..."
His head began to droop forwards, and Holmes looked up at Sir Henry, who stared back helplessly.
"There's no way we'll be able to reach Dr. Mortimer in this weather," Sir Henry said, as he sat down on the settee beside the doctor, pulling one of the blankets around the other man's shoulders, "Barrymore!"
The butler appeared quickly at the summons, his eyes slightly wide, but otherwise he was composed, given the events of the evening.
"Sir?"
"Fetch the doctor's medical bag from his room. The least we can do is to bandage his wound."
"Sir."
Barrymore disappeared quickly, as his wife suddenly appeared with two more blankets.
"I've warmed these by the fire in the kitchen," she said, quickly, handing one to Holmes.
She shook out the blanket she held, wrapping it quickly around the still-shivering Watson, before she took the second one from Holmes and wrapped it over the doctor's legs.
"Thank you, Mrs Barrymore," Sir Henry said, gratefully, "You may... you may tell Sally that she can remain in my service, but... but she must not betray my trust again, is that understood?"
"Oh, yes, Sir Henry," Mrs Barrymore flushed, and curtseyed, "thank you, Sir. Very much."
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Mrs Barrymore," Sir Henry gave her a wan smile, "please... go and see to your niece. And, please - fetch us some hot tea."
Mrs Barrymore left quickly, and Holmes turned his attention back to Watson. The doctor's shivering seemed to be abating slightly, and Holmes breathed a sigh of relief. Barrymore arrived with the medical bag, and Holmes opened it, sifting through it quickly.
"Can you treat the wound?" Sir Henry asked, anxiously.
"I am not a medical man," Holmes admitted, as he drew out bandages, "I certainly hope that it does not require stitches; I fear that is beyond me. But I am capable of applying a rudimentary dressing..."
Holmes worked as quickly as he could to bandage the wound, hating how his hands shook as he did so, before once more pulling the blankets around Watson. He wiped blood from his fingers on a scrap of bandage, and flung the cast-off cloth into the fire. The warm coverings and close proximity to the hearth seemed to be doing the trick; the doctor was shivering a great deal less than he had been, and some colour was returning to his face.
Mrs Barrymore arrived with hot drinks, and Holmes managed to persuade Watson to drink two cups of hot, sweet tea, despite his feeble protests. He seemed to be somewhat more coherent, although Holmes still had to hold on to him to keep him sitting upright.
"I think it is safe to let him sleep now," Holmes said, quietly, at last, as Sir Henry stood to allow him to lie Watson down on the settee; "though I shall stay with him and make sure that his condition does not deteriorate..."
"A wise suggestion," Sir Henry replied, "I think... I think I shall keep you company."
~*~