From SheWhoScrawls: December 2: Watson is suffering from an aversion to bacon. Explain.

I entered the sitting room and gave a start at the sight of Watson stretched rather awkwardly upon our settee. He groaned as I took to my armchair.

"Whatever is the matter old fellow?" I asked as I watched him shift with a grimace. I noted with no little concern that he had that look about him which he always develops when he has been awake all night with his miserable war wounds. However, on this morning he was not holding his arm or leg at all awkwardly or stiffly which of course suggested that he had been unable to sleep for a different reason entirely.

My companion rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Please do not stare Holmes. I am all right."

It is interesting indeed that his definition of 'all right' when he refers to himself is startling similar to mine when used in regard to myself. I tutted and approached his side.

"What is it?" I demanded of him none too gently. "I can see quite well enough that there is something wrong. What the deuce did Lestrade do to you last night?"

He grimaced. "He did nothing to me. Please Holmes, do not shout so."

I calmed myself to the best of my ability. "Then what is it?"

I was rapidly becoming increasingly regretful that I had not joined Watson and Lestrade on their little excursion to the local public house, but I am too well known locally to feel comfortable and I would have felt as if I were intruding in any case. That Yarder has become far more friendly with my Boswell since 1891 than he ever was with me. But that is the way of things. Watson is the warmer and much more approachable of the two of us, after all.

"I simply found it difficult to sleep Holmes. That is all."

I shrugged. "Would you care to tell me what occured last night?"

My friend groaned. "I learned that Lestrade is rather fond of beer. We had four pints each before I lost count."

"But you do not drink like that!" I gasped, horrified. Watson tends to become tipsy after a single measure of whisky! Granted, beer is not nearly as strong, but four pints! And he had clearly had rather more than just the four.

"Holmes, please... I know that I have behaved stupidly."

I grimaced. "I take it that you are feeling unwell. Shall I fetch down your bag?"

"It is only a headache. Perhaps if I just have a glass of water..."

"Coffee would be better," I told him. "The headache is probably due to tiredness as much as the alcohol. I shall just ask for our breakfast."

I probably should not have stepped out onto the landing and shouted, but perhaps it will have helped my companion to remember to have more care in future. I heard him groan as I called our housekeeper and requested breakfast.

The coffee was brought in first and I gave my friend a cup. "Drink up Watson; this should put you right."

He sipped it tentatively before setting it aside. "Thank you."

Despite my companion's lack of enthusiasm, the strong, black coffee did indeed revive him somewhat. In fact, he seemed much improved until I uncovered my breakfast and started to eat.

With a groan Watson hauled himself to his feet and ran, none too steadily, into the washroom. The noises from within informed me that water might well have been the better choice of restorative drinks after all.

"Watson?" I called when all became quiet but my companion did not return to the sitting room. "Are you all right?"

I covered my breakfast again and left the table to approach our washroom, cursing my lack of medical knowledge. Of course the fellow was not all right! His stomach has proved to be even stronger than my own! All the same, I found myself at a loss and knew not what else to say.

Quietly I entered the little room to find my companion kneeling on the tiled floor in front of the lavatory, leaning wearily against the wall. I touched his shoulder gently and knelt at his side.

"Watson?"

"I am sorry Holmes... Did I put you off your breakfast?"

I snorted. "Never mind breakfast! Are you all right?"

"It was the bacon. The smell."

I frowned and wrapped an arm about him, for the room was cold and he was shivering. "But you like bacon!"

He groaned. "I do not think I could face it now. Not after last night. When we left the public house, Lestrade decided that he was hungry. I thought that I was as well. We each purchased a bacon sandwich..." he shuddered and grimaced.

I squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. He did not have to tell me any more. Clearly, either he or Lestrade - or all the more likely both of them - had become nauseous as the outside air assailed them and the bacon had only made matters worse.

"All right old fellow. We shall give the bacon to Mrs. Hudson's cat and we shall have toast. Can you manage some toast? And I shall get you some drinking water as well. Try not to remain here on the floor for too long in the meantime."

I do hope that Watson and Lestrade will be much more sensible in future. I do not like to watch my Boswell suffer but there is little that I could do for him. Prevention is much better than cure.