"Oh, it's you," Chelsea growls as we approach her desk. "What do you want?" she adds as she sets down the folder in her hands to cross her arms.

If she means to intimidate us she is to be disappointed.

Lestrade smiles. "Hi Chelsea. How're you settling in?"

"Don't try being all friendly now. Zed off Yardie!"

"That is not a very pleasant way to speak to someone you know," I inform her quietly.

"You can zed off as well Holmes. Go on. I'm working here you zed heads! You had your chance to talk to me when I came over, but all you, your walking tin can and your girlfriend here wanted to do was fight. Well, I've got more important things to do now than talk to any of you, so you can just zed off."

Charming.

"By the way, me 'n' John 're going out tonight," she informs us with a smug smile. "You just try and stop him! He loves me."

"Come on Holmes," Lestrade takes me by the arm and drags me back to her office.

"Lestrade," I protest quietly as we walk away, "I did wish to talk to her."

She frowns at me, wrinkling her nose. "She was trying to upset you."

I cannot help but laugh. "I am not easily upset my dear. Hum, I think that I should warn John that our friend means to drag Watson out again tonight though. He does need to rest. If Chelsea loved him -"

"Yeah, exactly - she's horrible!" she rants as she slams the door of her office. "What does Watson see in her?"

I shrug. "She tends to be very nice when she is with Watson - I very much doubt that he could picture her using bad language or insulting our John."

"No, probably not."

"He is already beginning to think that they need to talk, however..."

Lestrade snorts. "What he needs to do is to slow down. So do you. You were supposed to get some rest when you came home."

I shake my head. "Idling tires me. Do you have any idea how much energy boredom wastes?"

She laughs at that. "OK, OK. I don't like being bored either. So... What now?"

"Well, you have quite ruined my idea of questioning her."

The inspector cringes. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"What has happened to you lately? You never used to worry so very much about my feelings."

"I guess it was hearing you talk about that poisoner and your concerns for Watson," she replies quietly. "I'd never known how sensitive you can be, behind that mask o' yours."

I avert my gaze, suddenly feeling very exposed. Perhaps I should not have told her how I felt; I am not even sure why I did.

"You OK?"

I nod and force a smile to my lips.

"I guess I could get Scott on board," she offers. "He won't ask questions; if we tell him we think she's up to no good, that'll be enough for him."

I nod and sniff quietly. "Yes, Winters could prove to be useful. Is he here?"

"He should be. Ha! I saw that yawn! Go 'n' curl up in that chair over there - it's what I do when I've had a late night. Go on, it's OK; nobody'll know."

I curl myself into the comfortable chair that Lestrade has pointed to and pull my cape over me for warmth. I am freezing!

"Poor old Holmes," I hear Winters' voice remark suddenly, pulling me from a dreamless slumber that I had not even realised that I had fallen into. "He looks exhausted."

"Well, he would be," Lestrade retorts. "He's worrying himself sick over Watson."

Thank you Beth. How much have you told him?

"Well, I'm not surprised if you both think his girlfriend's up to no good. You take care o' Holmes and I'll take care of her - if she's up to something, I'll soon find out."

Not too much then. Good!

"Thanks Scott."

The door opens and quietly closes. I allow myself to return to sleep.

I awake slowly. Lestrade is sitting at her computer, but her eyes are fixed on me. "Hey there! Feeling OK?"

I nod and stretch my arms and shoulders. "Not as tired."

"I should hope so," she retorts with a smile. "Want a cup of tea?"

I sniff and pull my cape closer. "Yes please."

She nods and gives my face an appraising sweep of her eyes. "I won't be long."

It is not until the door has closed that I remember that I dislike the pond water that is supposed to be New Scotland Yard tea. Well, it is too late now; I shall have to drink it.

"Sherlock?"

I groan and open my eyes with a sniff.

"Tea?"

I take the offered insulated cup and remove the lid. "You bought this from the coffee house down the road."

"You hate the Yard's tea," she shrugs. "I figured that was a better idea."

"It is very kind of you. Thank you."

Her face lights up and she pulls her desk chair to my side. "You're welcome."

I adjust the Inverness about me so that I can drink. Oh! This is strong and good! I sniff and hastily wipe at my nose with the handkerchief from my pocket as the steam causes it to run.

"You're cold!" Lestrade stands quickly and checks the heating. "How warm is it at Baker Street, normally?"

I shrug. "My bedroom is often freezing; there is no fireplace."

"It shouldn't feel cold in here then," she remarks with a concerned frown. "It's twenty-one degrees right now."

I make the calculation to convert it into Fahrenheit. Yes, that should indeed be a comfortable temperature.

"I'll turn it up a little. What temperature do you set the heater to in your car?"

I shrug. "Between twenty and twenty-five, I believe. John usually adjusts it for Watson and I."

"Yeah, I've noticed that he can tell when someone isn't warm enough."

I suppress a cold shiver and attempt to warm my hands on the polystyrene cup within my grasp.

"Zed Sherlock! I hope you aren't getting sick," my friend returns to my side and presses a hand to my forehead with a frown.

"I feel all right! Really Lestrade!"

She nods, though her eyes continue to sweep over my face. "Sorry. It's just... I don't wanna have to nurse you back to health again; I'll never forget that time you had the 'flu."

"That was before I had been given any inoculations! Furthermore, it was the first illness that I had contracted; I have not been nearly as unwell since."

She smiles and resumes her seat at my side. "Yeah, I guess you're right; I just don't wanna ever see you like that again. It was scary."

God, give me strength! "Why do you worry so much?"

"Why d'you worry about Watson?"

I shrug and look away.

"Exactly Holmes," she pats my shoulder. "He's your friend; you can't help it."

I sniff and shrug again. "I have had him back for three years now - I should know by now that he is much stronger and healthier than he was in our own era. Ha! Not that he did very badly in our own era - we both lived to a good old age."

"Yeah, it doesn't work like that though," she replies. "You worry 'cause you care, not 'cause he's weak or helpless. 'Sides, he worries over you too."

"Have you read of my experiment with the Devil's Foot?"

She shudders and rubs at her arms before glaring at me. "Pull a stunt like that and I swear I'll kill you - OK?"

I give a shiver in spite of myself - and not just due to feeling chilled. "A stunt like that might well rob you of the opportunity.."

"Huh!" the inspector pokes me in the arm. "I'd bring you back to life again just so I could yell at you 'n' kill you again!"

I chuckle. "Charming."

"I'm not kidding Sherlock; don't try it."

"Consider me warned."

"Good!" she shakes her head and mutters something that would appear to be about Victorian gentlemen being insane. "Don't you see danger in anything?"

I sniff. "Of course I do! I simply like to understand -"

She again pokes my arm. I do wish that she would desist! My muscles are tense as I am feeling so very cold and having a finger poking one of them is deucedly uncomfortable.

"Understand this - you've got me, John, Watson, the Irregulars... I mean, you mean a lot to a lot o' people Holmes. Besides, what d'you think your Irregulars'd do if something happened to you? They'd probably go back to pretty crime..."

"I am not going to commit suicide!"

"You sure as zed don't try very hard to stay safe!"

If she wishes to fight... "Neither do you, for that matter." Ha!

She deflates somewhat. "I guess."

I pat her shoulder and offer her a smile.

"I wouldn't poison myself to find out what it does though."

"I did promise Watson that I would never do such a thing again," I inform her quietly. "That does still stand; I am a man of my word."

She smiles back at me. "That's good to know."

I sniff quietly and finish my tea. "We should get to work."

"We can't do anything until we hear from Winters," she shakes her head. "Besides, you really should go home and rest. Go to bed for a while; see if you can warm up a little. I'll see that John takes care o' you."

"I am not ill!"

She frowns at me. "You sure as zed aren't well! You're getting hypothermic - know what that means?"

I sniff somewhat derisively. "I have the opposite of a fever."

"That happens for one o' two reasons Holmes - getting too cold or getting too tired. If you aren't careful you could get really sick."

God help me! "I am all right! I have gone without sleep many times before!"

And yet, I do feel unwell. Not dreadful, but worse than my usual post-case lethargy. My head has been aching ever since we boarded the shuttle home - an annoying, dull ache that paracetamol cannot seem to do a thing about - and I have been becoming nauseous and fatigued frequently.

"Yeah, I've heard all your 'sleep is optional' crap. You need it Sherlock - remember how bad you felt when you started getting insomnia?"

I nod and twitch my nose. "I did feel somewhat unwell, I recall."

"Huh! 'Somewhat unwell'! You were in a real bad way - if Watson hadn't been able to put in an appearance when he did... Well, it would've taken you a long time to recover."

I shrug and look away. "I have never... That is... Watson was the only person that ever wanted to be a friend to me; he changed me. I cannot begin to explain."

She takes my hand and squeezes it. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he? More than me 'n' John put together."

"I would be just as upset if you were in danger and I could do nothing - or if John was lost - it is the hopelessness of the situation that upsets me Beth; being powerless... frightens me."

She gives my hand another squeeze. "I understand. But you're not alone in this, OK? Don't worry."

I nod and attempt to calm myself. I know that I can trust Lestrade, John and Winters for their assistance; there is no need for me to fret.

"Feel better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Good. Come on then; let's get you home. I'll get one of the Yard's droids to take your car back for you - I think I'd like to know you're home safe."

We are on our way to Baker Street when Winters contacts us. Chelsea has been approached by a gentleman in a hooded coat (hood up and obscuring his face) and a scarf covering his mouth.

"He had a French accent, if that helps."

I sit up a little straighter, my headache and fatigue forgotten in an instant. "It might. What did this French gentleman say?"

"He told her where to take Watson tonight and what to do to him," he shivers. "I didn't like it Holmes; he gave her something to slip in his drink."

"Where is she to take him?" I ask somewhat brusquely. There is no time for pleasantries.

"A dance club in one of the seedier parts of town. The Bottoms Up."

I grimace. "That is certainly not the sort of place that I should expect a gentleman like Watson to visit."

"I get the feeling that he isn't meant to know where he's going until he gets there."

"More than likely," I mutter quietly. "Well, John is going to keep him in tonight anyway; that should put a spanner in the works for Chelsea's friend."

Winters shakes his head. "Chelsea might be in contact with this guy, but I wouldn't say they're friends; she was scared of him - you could see it in her body language."

"Scared? Are you certain?" I press the fellow. "She could have been afraid of being seen with her contact - or overheard for that matter - surely?"

"No, I don't think so. After all, she deals with guys in from off the street and it's been cold and wet out since about ten this morning - there's nothing all that suspicious about her talking to someone off the street in a rain coat. Besides, she was definitely afraid of him - I mean, she cowered slightly when he approached her desk. She also flinched when she asked whether that stuff she was given'd hurt Watson and he said it wasn't any o' her business."

As much as I dislike Chelsea, it sounds as if she is in need of help. What can I do? If we prevent Watson from accompanying her, that could place her in terrible danger; on the other hand, allowing him to walk out in her could lead to him being poisoned or drugged.

"We'll have to tell Watson what we know," Beth is saying beside me.

"What?" I almost leap out of my seat. "We cannot! He would undoubtedly place himself in harm's way for her sake!"

Winters nods. "At least he'll know not to drink anything."

"You cannot be serious! The fellow shall have to drink something."

Lestrade smirks at me. "Will you relax? He's not gonna be going it alone. Scott, can Jones get a date at short notice, d'you think? Great! Ask him to take her to the Bottoms Up club. I know it's not really his kind of place, but if he could grunge down to look the part... Look! Just tell him it's for Watson, OK? Holmes, there's no way you could fit in there..."

"Perhaps not, but I do know a man that can. Do you think you could look a little more disreputable by... At what time is Watson to be taken there? By half past seven?"

She snorts. "I think I can manage it. Who's my escort?"

I smile to myself. "The right sort of escort for such a place. Never mind him - I shall see that he behaves himself and allows you to work."

"I sure hope so Holmes."

With that, Winters is gone and Lestrade turns her full attention to driving. The weather is terrible and reminds me of the storm that I once braved (as a fairly new driver) to visit Watson's grave. It seems like an eternity ago now.

I almost wish now that Lestrade had not had Watson brought back to life now; I am no better at protecting him and keeping him from harm than I was in our own era. As we speed onward, through the heavy rain and fading light, I try to calm myself as my stomach churns unpleasantly and attempts to tie itself into knots. I have not fretted like this since my Boswell announced his engagement - even Moriarty could not fill me with so much dread and nothing, in wakefulness or sleep, has ever brought me so near to panic.

I am terrified for my gentle friend.