Mrs. Hudson was fussing in her usual manner later that evening. He smiled patiently, endured the scolding, complimented the soup, and glared at Sherlock Holmes when the man sniggered openly behind the good woman's back.
The effort drained him, however, and when the door had shut he sighed, rubbing his aching head.
"Shall I fetch you a pain reliever?" Holmes asked anxiously.
He shook his head. "Not yet. Thank you, m'dear fellow," he added as Holmes took the nearly-empty soup-plate. "Better not try more than that for now." Looking up as the detective helped him to recline, he frowned. "You need sleep, Holmes."
"I slept this morning," the detective admitted, shaking the thermometer. "You were out so completely that I took Mrs. Hudson's offer to watch you for a few hours. She woke me when you started…growing restless."
Nightmaring was more like it, but he was grateful his friend had not said it. He was too spent to protest the temperature-taking, but halted Holmes with an upraised hand.
"You must tell me how you found me," he insisted, with a tired spark of eagerness.
"I shall, but only if you feel up to it," Holmes replied dubiously, handing him the thermometer.
"I do," he garbled round the glass.
Holmes's brows knitted. "Very well, but stop me if you start feeling badly."