The whistle blasted a shrill warning as we jumped aboard. Holmes flopped into the seat across from me and I gingerly sat, my leg paining me from our dangerous night and mad sprint up the platform.
Holmes's keen eyes scrutinised me.
"All right, Watson?"
I nodded breathlessly and leaned my head back against the seat. In the four years I had spent so far in his company I still was not used to these all-night vigils, invariably ending in one of us being injured – thankfully that had not happened this time.
As the rhythmic swaying of the train increased, I reflected pensively – what would my life be like had Stamford not introduced the two of us?
I shuddered, not wishing to think of the meaningless existence I would be living had that been the case. Better to have these tiring nights, even the ones I spent watching over my friend's sickbed, than what could so easily have been but for a chance meeting four years ago.
I glanced at Holmes; he was watching me with a fond smile.
"I see we've been thinking along parallel lines, my dear fellow," he interpreted my expressions, reading my thoughts as usual.
I returned the smile, settling back and closing my eyes, thanking kind Fate for saving us both from a life of lonely boredom.