At some point in the morning, Holmes yawned and woke with a start, bolting upright in disheveled confusion. Too exhausted to be embarrassed, he merely ignored his friend's chuckling and stalked down to his bedroom to promptly crash into his own bed, where he was soon asleep again.
So it was, that when Inspector Lestrade called that afternoon with P.C. Cummings in tow, he was pleasantly surprised to be shown into the Doctor's bedroom instead of the shared sitting room.
"Good to see you looking more yourself, Doctor," said he with sincerity, looking over the pale figure propped up in the bed. "Apparently you've been worrying quite a few people of late."
"So I hear." He motioned to the chair, glancing at the constable who remained standing. "You were there, when they found me," he stated, trying to remember his name.
"Yes, sir," the young man gulped. "Police Constable Randall Cummings, sir. And I'm glad to see you looking better, Doctor."
Watson voiced a greeting and thank-you before returning his attention to Lestrade. "Holmes is still sleeping, Inspector; is this a social visit, or are you here for my statement?"
"Only if you feel up to it, Doctor."
He nodded. "Most definitely. In fact I'd rather Holmes not be present when I do, so your timing for me is quite beneficial."