"Looks like we're coming up on a stop."
Holmes groaned.
"Would you like to get off and rest? We can catch another train in an hour if you need. Holmes? Listen, neither of us knew this train would be so rough, but now—well, can't we change our plans round a bit?"
"Oh, do be quiet," he rasped between shallow breaths.
My own stomach was feeling slightly uneasy, so I turned to the carriage window, fixing my eyes on a distant oak tree. I had suggested he do the same earlier; he'd replied with a surly look and a sniff that was more miserable than haughty.
Presently the train wheels began to grind. I put my hand to the wall, so as not to lose my balance, and the train racked to a halt.
After swallowing his groans, Holmes lifted his head off his knee and looked blearily out the window. "Is this a long stop?"
"Not very. If you want to get off, we have to do it now."
He stood slowly, nodding. "Very well. At least we have no luggage."
We exited and sat quietly by the tracks together, watching the train lurch away from us.
"I find the irony appalling," Holmes muttered, tossing pebbles feebly between the tracks. "The one morning I decide to have seconds at breakfast…"