Watson:

Hopkins awoke twice more in the night in a state of alarm, but was assuaged quickly and sent back to sleep. Observing that both times had been during periods of silence, Holmes had spent the rest of the night and the long hours of the morning drifting from one piece to another on the violin. I myself drifted into unconsciousness in my chair sometime around five.

Morning came without further incident, and Hopkins seemed much improved.

"Well, you look a good sight better," I said as I checked him over. "You're not quite ready to go back to work, but so long as you drink plenty and keep from stressing yourself for another few days, you'll recover nicely."

"Thank you, Doctor. I am sor-"

"Hopkins," Holmes interrupted from behind his agony column, "if you apologize just once more I will have the doctor drug you until your stitches have healed."

I stifled a laugh at my flatmate's brusque comment. "Don't worry," I assured the boy, "You're not the first nor the last Inspector to spend the night on our settee. Lestrade was a regular fixture for awhile, in fact. Think you're alright for some breakfast?"

"I think I can manage. I'm not hungry, but I don't feel sick anymore, either."

"Good. I'll ring Mrs. Hudson."

While he attended his toilet and donned one of Holmes' older shirts, Mrs. Hudson laid out a lavish spread. Holmes took up a piece of toast, and only at my insistence added a couple of eggs and a rasher of bacon to his plate. Hopkins as well was much more interested in his tea than in anything solid, until he was cajoled into tasting it, at which point he apparently discovered his appetite and attacked the dishes with relish.

Once the breakfast dishes were cleared away and we were arranged comfortably in the sitting room, Holmes cleared his throat.

"Do you think, Inspector, that you are fit to discuss the case now? There are a few small points that I should like to have cleared up while we still have you."

Hopkins tensed almost imperceptibly, but nodded. "Yes, sir, I think so. What do you want to know?"

"How you came to form your plan. You were following a young woman, yes?"

"Yes," Stanley confirmed. "Another girl I know, a friend of Molly's."

"How did you conclude that the docks were the best place to look?"

"That infernal stimulant. Like Ho- like you say in the stories, Mister Holmes-" In the course of our conversation last night we had learned, among other things, that Hopkins was an avid reader of the Strand, much to Holmes' chagrin. "It's the singular cases that are often the easiest. Ephedrine is uncommon. I had to spend an hour ripping through medical journals to find any mention of it, but they said it was an oriental drug, used by American sailors. Well, I checked the dock schedules, and there was the Morwenna, just out of San Fransisco."

"Mm. So you asked a friend to help you, intending to use her as bait to catch the killer. At which point you would subdue him single-handedly and be the talk of the Yard, I suppose."

"Nothing of the sort, sir! I intended to alert the constables-"

"Yet you were alone. Tell me, did Lestrade train you in?"

Hopkins' eyes flashed. "Don't bring Lestrade into this. My failings bear no reflection on him."

Holmes was undaunted. "It was his responsibility to teach you basic procedure, and among those basic procedures, I believe, is that you do not go off alone!" I was surprised by the sudden vehemence in his voice. "That sort of bravado is what gets men killed!"

"You worked alone," Hopkins returned, his voice quiet but firm. "Before you met the doctor."

I was gifted with the very rare sight of my friend at a loss for words.

"Yes, well," I broke in, "his sense of self-preservation rather leaves something to be desired."

Holmes cast a quick glance at me, some odd combination of gratitude and annoyance. "I was lucky," he said. "Just as you were last night. But don't count on luck. It's a fickle thing, and if you put your weight on it, it'll give out at just the most crucial moment."

"I won't, mister Holmes," Hopkins murmured. "I know how luck runs out."

"Good," said Holmes, apparently satisfied.

Silence settled in, of the heavy brooding sort that it seems an offense to break prematurely with so much as the rustle of a paper. Such silences were bad enough when it was Holmes alone, but it seemed Hopkins was well-versed in them as well. Like two volatile chemicals meeting, the reaction left the atmosphere in that room positively stifling.

The door-bell pealed, the sound cutting through the room and rousing both my somber companions. I found myself breathing a sigh of relief as the dark cloud dissipated. "Now who could that be?" mused Holmes. "Heavy footsteps-"

"Long stride, even pace - tall and confident." added Hopkins.

"But hastened. Eager. I daresay this guest is for you, Inspector."

The door opened that moment to admit the tall, sturdy form of Inspector Bradstreet. Hopkins brightened almost before seeing him. "Bradstreet!"

Something like relief passed over Bradstreet's face, a good-natured grin following on its heels. "Good morning, Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson. I hope you don't mind my dropping by, but I wanted to see how Hopkins was faring."

"Not at all, Bradstreet, not at all!" Holmes waved him in. "Have a seat. We were just discussing whether he is fit to leave."

'Just discussing', indeed. Hopkins opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of the idea and looked to me. I shook my head. "You should rest as much as possible, and I'd rather someone tended you," I said. He looked about to protest when I continued, "But I see no reason why you couldn't do it in the comfort of your own home."

The protest faded, to be replaced by a relieved smile. "Thank you, doctor. I feel that I've monopolized your settee for quite long enough."

"I can see to his care, sir," Bradstreet added. "If it's not anything too peculiar."

"Just make sure he gets plenty of food, water, and rest. And don't hesitate to send for me if there's any problems."

"It was a pleasure having you, Hopkins," Holmes said. "I hope next time is under more favorable circumstances."

The door shut behind the two inspectors, and I smiled as I returned to my seat. Holmes raised a brow.

"You look rather amused, my dear boy."

"I was just thinking over the last day. He has your blood, without a doubt."

Holmes chuckled. "I have the strangest feeling I ought to be offended by that assertion."

Sherlock Holmes and any related characters do not belong to me.

My sincerest apologies for how long it took to get this out. Long story short: Cryptix is a flake and doesn't handle stress in anything resembling a constructive manner. This one is also unbeta'd, and I'm not sure the ending makes sense anymore... ah well.

This installment is officially dedicated to Mam'zelleCombeferre, for being the only person to message me since I flaked out, and making me feel like this was actually worth finishing. Thanks again.