The rain poured down the roof behind me in a slosh as I shut the door, shivering from the wet that had soaked my clothing – I'd forgotten my umbrella.
That supposed thirty-minute sick call had turned into a five-hour bed watch; it was now after midnight and I was completely exhausted. I set my bag in the hall and hung my wet coat up, seeing that there was an unfamiliar hat, umbrella, and coat there. Holmes had company.
No, no, Holmes never had company. Holmes had a client.
I paused outside the sitting room door to listen for a moment, to see if Holmes needed me in there with his client or if I could go to bed; I wanted the latter.
"Where's the Doctor?"
Inspector Lestrade's voice. Good, then I could go to bed.
"Out with a patient – he was supposed to be back long ago, poor chap."
I had turned away to stumble up to my room when I heard the topic switch.
"Nice story, his most recent one in the Strand, Holmes."
"Yes, actually, I thought it was rather well done myself."
I stared at the door in disbelief.
"But don't ever tell him I said so, Lestrade."
"Goodnight, Holmes," I sang, suddenly poking my head into the room with a grin.
He had the grace to blush.