Twelve hours had passed, and Sherlock Holmes had progressed from being sleep-dazed to smug to annoyed to dismayed to frustrated to upset and finally, though only Mrs. Hudson could perceive the fact through the deep shag-haze that choked the sitting room, to deeply worried.
Watson had been facing a long day ahead, Holmes knew that full well, but even on his busiest days he always sent home a telegram saying he would be missing a meal or two, as the case might be.
Today there had been no word at all. His day had not been that busy, Holmes knew.
The weather had taken a malicious turn, and ice had begun to coat the streets in a sparkling but deadly sheen two hours ago…from his place at the window Holmes had already seen two accidents on the street below…the consulting-room was a fair distance away from Baker Street, and if he were tired and hungry…and limping anyway as the detective knew he would be in this weather, he would not be watchful…
Holmes discovered he was actually grateful for the distraction when Mrs. Hudson entered to put a tea-tray on the table, stoke the fire, and start admonishing him for ignoring her ministrations.
An even more surprising discovery was that he went limp with relief upon hearing the door shut below.
Will be continued (again).