I had dozed off in my chair, my head upon my chest, when his sudden movements startled me awake again and I snapped upright with a start, glancing at the clock – nearly dark.
He had been either motionless or violently ill all day, poor chap, alternating between restless, fevered dreams and painfully embarrassing sickness, and I believe we were both exhausted by this point in the evening.
His restless moving about had woken me again, and I felt my brows knit as I watched him murmur unconsciously in his sleep; his face was flushed, the fever must be up again. I dampened a cloth in the cold water from the pitcher, laying it very gently on his forehead so as not to waken him, and was glad to see him quiet under my touch, at least for a while.
Just then I heard a light rapping on the door – probably Mrs. Hudson. The good woman had been most insistent earlier about the virtues of hot chicken soup, but poor Watson had groaned at the very thought and turned deathly pale so she had dropped the subject hastily.
"It's a client to see you, Mr. Holmes," she whispered.
"Tell him I am already engaged on a case."
"He is most insistent –"
"My present client is far more important," I snapped brusquely.