I am standing on a road. I can recognize it; why it's Baker Street. Hello, there's Mrs. Hudson and there…there is Watson. He looks up and smiles at me. Good old fellow. Always there when I need him.

"Holmes…"

I think somebody is calling me but then again, there's nobody here. Must be my imagination. Watson's calling me; my, he looks excited. Why is he taking his gun? Of course, we're going hunting. But who are we hunting? Oh, that's right; Killer Evans.

"Holmes…"

This voice is getting irritating now. Evans is here, we've outwitted him. The game's up, Evans! But why is he leering like that? Haven't I beaten him?

"Holmes, can you…"

That voice is fading away, but I want to hear it again. Something is wrong, why is Evans raising his gun? And he is shooting! Who is he shooting?

"…hear me?"

No. no, he has hit Watson. That is not right, he can't have hit Watson. But wait, where is Watson? Why can't I see him? Ah, there he is. Are you alright, my dear fellow? You haven't hurt yourself, right?

"Holmes!"

Dear God, Watson isn't moving. He isn't breathing. Evans is putting the gun to my head. Oh God…

"Holmes, wake up!"

I jolted from my nightmare, and looked around breathing deeply. A blurred figure presented itself at the edge of my vision. A few moments later, it cleared away to reveal Watson.

I blinked and sat up.

"Watson?"My voice was hoarse and unsteady as I looked upon my dearest friend.

Watson smiled at me. "Yes, my dear fellow, it is me."

The truth of the reality hit me. I gripped him by the arm and felt the muscle beneath.

"Dear God. Watson."

My poor friend apparently took the act of me slumping back onto the pillow as that of extreme exhaustion, not relief. So he started from the bed with a cry of surprise and when I opened my eyes I found a pair of terrified hazel eyes looking down at me.

My dear Watson. Always worrying about others before him.

Then I noticed that he was standing over my bed, wrapped in his dressing gown and bare footed. In an instant, I was out of my bed pushing my protesting friend into his bed.

"Holmes! Really this is ridiculous, I am fine."

"No you are not and that is a ridiculous declaration coming from a doctor who had pneumonia just a few hours ago."

"Actually Holmes, it's been almost twenty-four hours."

I stopped in the act of tucking his blanket around him and looked t him in amazement.

"Twenty-four hours? No, no, my dear Watson, you must be joking."

"I assure you, I am not. Go and look out of the window if you don't believe me."

I rose and approached the broad window at the other end. The hills around us were cloaked in darkness and only the occasional whistle told me that Lestrade's men were still here.

"I don't suppose it can be the night of the same day?"

"No Holmes. Oakshott was here until a few hours ago. I believe he had to take care of some business in London. You had not stirred since morning so we thought it better not to disturb you." His smile became troubled "You must have been very tired, my dear fellow."

I smiled back to him, and if truth be told, I had been very tired indeed. Watson's illness had affected my already sleep deprived mind which had spent nearly two sleepless days in tracking Frank Rogers. No wonder I fell asleep.

I looked at Watson and winced to see how pale and tired he looked. There were black bags under his eyes and his skin looked translucent. He clearly did not have a restful night even after I fell asleep.

I strode over to him and gently pushed tucked the covers around him. "Go to sleep, Watson." I said, gently. "Do not worry about me."

He smiled briefly at me and sank back into his pillows, his eyelids already closing. I sat beside him, surveying him and berating myself for getting him into this confounded position.

"Don't blame yourself Holmes."

I started and looked at Watson. He smiled at me from under closed eyelids.

"How can I not?! It is my fault that you are like this!"

"Holmes we have been friends for a long time and still you don't know this much."

"What?"

My friend placed his hand on my arm and said in a soft voice "Holmes, I would never let you go to a dangerous situation alone. I'll always go with you. In sickness or in health."

I smiled at my friend, who had now passed on to the realms of Morpheus.

I too, my dear Watson. I too.