The alarm on my pocket telephone wakes me at half past seven and I stare at the screen through blurry, sleepy eyes. Oh yes, I am supposed to retrieve Briar from the Winters family this morning. I dismiss the alarm and its accompanying reminder and wash and dress quickly. I can hardly wait to see the dog again!

John is already up and brings me a cup of tea and the offer of breakfast, along with a reminder that the setter is due to come home today.

"I know. I have also missed him," I reply. "If I had my way, Briar would have accompanied us during our case in Canada. As a matter of fact, his nose would have been of help."

"By the time he had been through quarantine, we would have been due to go home," the robot responds with a frown. "It was not possible Holmes."

I shrug. "I did not say that it was old chap - it was only wishful thinking."

He smiles and pats my arm. "Would you like me to drive you?"

I shake my head. "Watson may need you. He..." I had better not tell John that he was drinking! "He did not seem well when he came home."

The robot snorts. "Overtiredness, I expect. At what hour did he come home? We were still awake at one AM!"

"I did not look at the time. I was rather muddled with sleep."

"Perfectly understandable Holmes," he assures me. "Fear not, I shall take good care of Watson."

Mrs. Winters has Briar's bags packed when I arrive at her family home and step inside. I am pleased to hear that he behaved himself well and did not miss us too much. I had worried that he might fret and go off his food.

"He did cry a bit after you left," she tells me. "But Freddie and Paul soon cheered him up. He's good with kids."

Briar yaps happily and wags his tail.

"We introduced him to children, disabled individuals and so on as a part of his training," I explain. "One never knows who a working dog may encounter and it would never do for him to take fright and threaten a vulnerable individual."

"Oh no! Of course not," she agrees. "I've got to say that you trained him well - we had him finding hidden treats, shoes... Well, the kids gave his nose a good workout."

"Excellent! I must thank them."

She hands me a cup of tea. "And how was Canada? Scott said that you needed us to hold onto your dog for a few more days, but not why."

"Canada was..." Exhausting! "...the case was a little trying; as was the travel."

"I can imagine, Mr. Holmes. Well, anyway, it was a pleasure to have Briar. The kids didn't want him to go."

All the same, it was kind of them to take the fellow in at short notice and I say as much as I hand over a small box of chocolates.

"Oh, you didn't have to get us anything!"

I shrug. "We wanted to. They are from all of us, you know."

"Well, thank you."

With that, it is time to be on my way. I take Briar's leash in one hand, put his bag over my shoulder and go out to the car. The cheeky fellow immediately jumps up onto the front passenger seat when I open the door to toss in his bag and wags his tail at me.

"No Briar; you know your place. On the floor - go on!" I point at the foot well and frown at him. "Go on. Off!"

With a dejected sigh he settles himself in the space in front of the seat, onto which I toss the bag. As an afterthought I secure it through the straps with the seat belt to ensure that it will not fall on the dog should I have to make any sudden stops. I then climb inside the car and strap myself into the driver's seat.

Watson is stretched upon the settee when Briar and I enter the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. He does not look well, but he does not appear to be as ill as I had feared.

"He was sick when I woke him," John whispers. "I moved him down here so that I could keep an eye on him. He is looking better than he was, at least."

I nod, not quite sure whether I am angry with the fellow for getting himself into such a state or filled with concern and sympathy. "Thank you John."

"You are welcome Holmes. Now, let me see... I have given him plenty of water and allowed him to sleep. I can also tell you that he is not fevered."

I pat his arm and praise him for a job well done.

"Do you know why he was out so late last night?"

I groan and rub at my temple. "The woman that he has been walking out with - Chelsea - wanted to show him something new."

The robot shakes his head. "You are both supposed to be recovering from jet lag!"

"You would be amazed at Watson's stamina when he is anxious to impress a lady friend," I remark, half-humourously.

John snorts again. "Well, I am keeping him in today. He looks dreadful!"

Watson groans. "'He' can hear you. What is the time?"

"High time that you rested old fellow," I reply gently. "John is quite right - you do look terribly unwell."

"I am all right! Really Holmes! You have no right to tell me that I fret and fuss too much."

As he gingerly sits up I take to his side. "How are you?"

"Thirsty, I think."

I pour some water into a glass and hand it over. I hope that he is not going to be sick again!

Watson takes two sips and then grimaces. "Would you excuse me?"

"What's wrong?" I ask with rather more concern in my tone than I would like.

"I have to pay a visit Holmes," he retorts impatiently. "If you would be so kind..."

Ah. "Of course Watson." I help him to his feet and watch my Boswell totter unsteadily in the vague direction of the washroom.

"Let me help," John offers as he stands and hastens to his side to wrap a supportive arm about him. "You seem to be a little unsteady."

That is putting it mildly! I hope that the fellow shall think twice before he puts himself through this again. I run a hand over my eyes and lean back to rest my head on the back of the settee, suddenly finding that I am dreadfully tired.

I am dozing with Briar on my lap when John and Watson return.

"Briar!" John shouts, causing both me and the dog to jump. "Get down at once!"

Watson groans as the dog leaps from my lap and cowers beneath the coffee table. "Please... Not so loud! My head..."

"My apologies old boy. Are you all right?"

The fellow staggers back to my side and I assist him in s sitting down. "I will be. Thank you Holmes."

"Not at all Watson," I squeeze his arm and address him with a smile.

"You look weary," he remarks with a frown. "Could you not sleep?"

How could I? I am still a light sleeper and Watson made no less than four visits to the washroom during the night.

"Poor Holmes," the fellow mumbles, taking my failure to answer as a reply in itself. He rests his head at my shoulder in a drowsy manner and pats my arm.

With a sigh I close my eyes and permit myself to settle down at his side. I hear John put some soothing music on to play and know no more for quite a while.

When I awake, it is to the sound of angry voices. Chelsea has arrived and is shouting abuse at our robotic friend.

"Look, you useless pile of scrap metal," she is snarling, "John and I made plans to go out tonight."

"As you saw when you came in, he is unwell," the compudroid responds coldly. "If you cared for him at all you would let him rest for at least a day or two."

Bravo John!

She snorts impatiently. "And who're you? His mother?"

Now that is below the belt!

"John is his concerned friend," I snap as I gather the rugs that I have been swathed with about me and stagger none too elegantly to my feet. "He is also quite right; if you do care for Watson, you would have no desire to allow him to become worse."

"He says that rest is all he needs."

I shrug with my hands. "Then allow him to rest."

She snorts again. "And I'm guessing you're his zedding doctor."

"I am Sherlock Holmes," I inform her coldly. "Watson is my closest and dearest friend."

She smirks at me. "Yeah, I know who you are. You're telling me I'm selfish, but how d'you treat him, huh?"

I feel my eyes prickle and turn away. She is right; I have not treated my Boswell very much better in the past.

"Holmes would never drag Watson out with him while he was unwell," John argues with a shake of his head as he folds his arms.

Not deliberately, no; there were occasions when I did overlook signs that he was ailing and came to regret that later, however. All the same, I can see John's point - there is a very clear difference between our treatment of our friend and hers.

Unable to listen to more, I seek out my companion of old. He is up in his bedroom, curled upon his bed and looking utterly miserable.

"Watson?" I approach his side slowly, cautiously, and rest a tentative hand upon his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

I hear him sniff. "Go away Holmes."

His words sting much more than I should ever wish to admit. I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat and blink. "Would you be rid of me?"

He slowly rolls over to face me and I can see that he has been crying.

I seat myself beside him and touch his arm. "What is it old fellow?"

"Chelsea is angry and upset with me," he whispers. "I forgot that we had made arrangements to go out again."

I frown and shake my head. "It is not like you to be forgetful." Unlike him! It is unheard of!

"I know Holmes. Furthermore, I am not quite sure just how much further my money can stretch - and I still owe you for half of the week's shopping..."

I shake my head and dismiss that concern with a reassuring smile and flick of my fingers. "Never mind the shopping; I have ample money to cover it."

"That is beside the point Holmes."

I squeeze his arm. "It is you that I am worried about."

He nods and sniffs. "I know... And I have treated you so poorly of late."

"Oh! Hardly that!" I assure him. "Hardly that. Besides, I did not always treat you very well in the past."

"That is not a good excuse old fellow."

I shrug. "And what excuse, tell me, did I have?"

He shrugs in turn and smiles at me.

"That is better," I remark as I pat his arm.

He sniffs again and gives a shiver. "What brought you here?"

"You of course," I retort as I jump from the bed and crouch at his hearth to light a fire. "I wanted to see that you are all right."

"I am all right Holmes."

He does not sound it. With the fire lit, I return to his side. "I think," I say as I remove his shoes, "that you should get under your covers old fellow. I can see that you are cold."

He hisses and twitches his foot as my fingers graze his skin. "So are you - your hands are like ice!"

"Sorry Watson. Yes they would be; I am tired."

"I expect you are," he mumbles as I help him into his bed. "I seem to recall disturbing you last night, now that you come to mention it. Sorry Holmes."

I pat his shoulder. "It was not your fault."

"If you say so," he sniffs. "I am sorry, never the less."

"Quite all right. Try to rest now."

He nods and then frowns. "Is Chelsea still shouting at John?"

"Yes," I listen a moment and then groan. I thought I had heard the front and hall doors slam and footsteps on the stairs to the sitting room. "It would seem that our Lestrade has joined the fray as well."

"You are not going to get any peace downstairs then," he mutters as he makes room for me. "Come on; there is plenty of room if you lie on your side."

I stretch out above his covers with my rugs covering me somewhat haphazardly. "Thank you."

"I am sorry that I have not found more time for you," the fellow whispers with a yawn. "But Chelsea missed me terribly while we were in Canada and I had to make it up to her. And now I have let her down again."

"You have not let her down! You are unwell."

I feel him shiver. "I had too much to drink."

"Which you never do," I respond. "Why did you drink so much last night?"

"I don't know Holmes."

"Yes you do."

He groans. "You would tell me that Chelsea does me no good."

"It is none of my business," I respond quickly. "But I do wish for you to be safe and happy. At the end of the day Watson, you know what is and is not good for you."

"Yes." I feel him fidget behind me. "If I was one of your clients..."

"I would ask you if you are happy."

He sniffs again. "I should talk to her."

"Yes, but not right now; you are in need of rest. You sound as if you have a cold."

He squirms closer to me. "I am only tired."

I roll onto my back (very carefully - our beds are both rather narrow) and look into his face. "Yes, I expect that you are. The thing is that you are going to become unwell if you do not rest. Now would you please go to sleep Watson."

He gives me a weak smile and closes his eyes. "It has been quite a while since you last gave me an order."

"It was not an order; I said 'please' - therefore it was a request. However, if you do not cease your chatter and at least attempt to sleep, I am liable to lose my temper."

The fellow smirks at me and closes his eyes, though he does still seem to be restless; no doubt the lack of restful sleep has brought on insomnia.

I close my eyes in turn and begin to control my breathing to induce a yawn. Fatigued as I am, it is not difficult.

Almost immediately, my companion yawns in response and draws closer to me with a sniffle. I know not which of us falls asleep first.