I stood for a moment unnoticed in the doorway, critically appraising every detail of the room's spotlessness and finally assuring myself that it was satisfactory.
Then my gaze turned back to the man seated on the edge of the bed, speaking earnestly and not without tremor to the pale figure under the sheets.
I harboured no bitterness that Sherlock had called first for him and not for me, nor that he was obviously more relieved when the Doctor was near than he was around me.
I watched as Watson bent over my brother, speaking soothingly and tucking the blankets gently in round my brother. Sherlock's drawn face relaxed into a small affectionate smile as the man finished his ministrations and reluctantly turned to leave, having left an important patient waiting in his surgery when the news arrived.
I shook the Doctor's hand reassuringly as he left and promised to look out for my brother. Then I entered the room and pulled up a chair, glancing down at Sherlock's pain-filled expression.
"Brother. I must apologise for getting myself into this mess."
"Sherlock, what in heaven's name possessed you to walk into such an ambush?" I finally exploded. "Why weren't you watching out for yourself!"
My brother glanced tiredly at the door where his friend had just exited.
"I never had to before."
