"I made you a cup of tea," Holmes said, handing it to Watson and holding his hand close until he was sure the other man had a steady grip on the saucer. "Rather, Mrs. Hudson made it, but at my request."

Watson smiled. It was a weak smile from a man who was still recovering from his hair-raising adventure the previous night, but it was genuine. "Thank you."

Holmes stood silent for a moment then, with a jarring jolt from stillness to the rapidity that sometimes overtook him, took several laps around the room before coming back to fall into the chair opposite Watson. "Watson, that was exceedingly foolish of you."

"It was a necessary risk."

"You might have been killed."

"I might have," Watson conceded. "But we are neither of us the sort to stand idle while an innocent life hangs in the balance."

"No," Holmes said. "That we are not." He took out his pipe and turned it over in his hands. "You must take care today. You must do nothing to overtax yourself. It would not do to lose you to a chill after you have survived a plunge in an icy river."

Watson smiled. The tea had put a little color back in his face, and his smile was brighter. "I will sit right here all day with my tea and my feet by the fire."

"Very good," Holmes said. Softer, almost in a whisper, he repeated, "Very good." Then, returning to a normal speaking voice, he said, "And I will sit with you, at your beck and call, to ensure your recovery."

"Thank you, Sherlock. I do not know what I would do without you."

Holmes turned his attention to the fire. "Nor I you, my dear Doctor."