This is taking on a life of its own, methinks...
I was having a spot of trouble balancing that steaming bowl on the tray and climbing those steps. But I managed it somehow, and whether he wanted to or not the Doctor was going to eat something; even if he only kept it down for a minute or two it had to be better than nothing.
Having tenants like those boys made it nigh impossible to be a heavy sleeper in my house, so I'd heard Mr. Holmes pacing about all night long in that bedroom, bless him. Last I had seen the poor man looked right sickly himself, not to mention the Doctor, and this was the third day the poor man had been ill.
I balanced the tray with one hand and knocked on the door with the other. No answer. I pushed the door open a bit and peeked in.
The Doctor was awake, blinking in the morning light and looking a sight better than last evening.
And Mr. Holmes was dead asleep, collapsed across the side of the bed.
The Doctor was looking at him, smiling fondly and trying to wriggle his arm out from under Mr. Holmes's head without waking him.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," he whispered softly, giving up the effort, "that soup smells wonderful."
"It is indeed a good morning, Doctor," I replied, beaming.