This is my gift to I'm Nova. It was intended as a birthday present, but time rather got the better of me. However, as I have not participated in the December Challenge for this year, I have found some time to prepare this now.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, my dear!

KnightFury.

I do wish that Watson would at least try to stay out of harm's way, when I am not with him. He is late coming home and I know that it is most likely because he has gone to one of the least reputable parts of London, from which it is extremely unlikely to find a cab.

Of course, it is possible that one of his patients is dangerously ill. I should not worry so; all night vigils can hardly be called unusual at this time of the year. However... I worry none-the-less. Long vigils mean Watson standing at a bedside with not a drop to drink nor crumb of food. He is likely to fall ill himself, for he has not my strong constitution. It is cold and foggy out, as well - a freezing fog, judging by the ice forming upon the window panes. When he returns, I shall have to see that he has a fire laid on in his room and something to eat and drink to hand when he wakes. He will most likely be far too spent to want for nourishment, when he does come home.

The door! He is home at last! Mrs. Hudson is saying something about the weather and late hour, but I catch no response from my friend.

I do not run to the top of the stairs, despite the urge to do so, but instead open the sitting room door, preparing to greet him cordially when he steps onto the landing. But that is not the doctor's tread upon the stairs.

Indeed, the grim expression which greets me as its owner reaches the landing is enough to give the very hardiest of men rather a turn!

"Lestrade!" I grip the handle of the door as a horrible, faint feeling grips me. I fear that I have only wood and hinges keeping me upright! "What is it? Has something happened to Watson?"

He chuckles and pats my arm as he comes to a halt at my side. "Don't tell me you've been fretting, Mr. Holmes! No, no; he's safe - he came to see me, because he was being followed and my house was the closer."

I relax and slowly exhale. "I have not been 'fretting', as you put it, Inspector; I merely expected him home and you looked somewhat grave. Is Watson all right?"

"Yes, he is well enough. Tired, so he's staying at our house. Well, if my wife can persuade him."

The remainder of the tension leaves me. Thank God!

"After all," he continues, "the spare room is always ready and at the disposal of a friend."

The emphasis on the word 'friend' is not lost on me.

"I shall be sure to remind the good doctor," I reply, somewhat coldly.

"You're a queer one," says he, shaking his head. "Mr. Holmes, do you suppose that I do not count you amongst my friends? Or is it that you have only the time for the one?"

It occurs to me a little too late that I am gaping at him. "Thank you, Inspector. You are very kind. But you are weary and chilled! Would you like a brandy, before you step back out into the cold?"

It has taken me rather too long to notice that he is visibly fagged and shivering. It is not that I have failed to see, but I have not been paying sufficient attention.

Lestrade thanks me and steps inside the sitting room. It is, I realise belatedly, untidy. I move my papers from the settee to my chair and urge my weary friend to take a seat. Only when he is seated do I pour the drinks.

"Thank you," says the inspector, accepting the proffered glass. "I should not stay; my wife will have supper waiting for me."

I smile. "Yes, of course. But I could not send you straight back out into the cold again. Do take a moment to warm yourself!"

He nods and leans back, stretching his feet towards the fire. "Don't mind if I do."

"You should remove your coat," I remind him. "I shall set that near to the fire, that it can be warmed through."

He shrugs off his coat and peels off his gloves, slipping those inside his right-hand pocket.

"You are engaged?" he enquires as I take his coat from him, his dark eyes flicking over the papers in my chair.

"Hum. Somewhat. But it is not much of a case; a commonplace murder, if I am not very much mistaken. I have a suspect in my sights."

"Not in my district, or I'd know about it."

I smirk. "No indeed. Canary Wharf."

"Do you think it might have any connection to Watson being followed home from Camden Town?"

"I have not a clue," I reply. "But the thought had occurred to me. While it would mean that the case is of more interest than first thought, I should prefer that Watson not be harmed when he is not involved. I do wish that he would keep well away from the less desirable places, when he is alone - or to at least go into them armed."

"Well, I'm sure I don't know what it was about, either, but the fellow was certainly a rough. I did not like the thought of him loitering outside my family's home and was right glad that he slunk off at the sight of me."

I tense with excitement. "Wait a minute! You saw him? Could you describe the fellow?"

He shrugs. "It was dark and foggy, but he was leaning against a lamppost. Not a good place to avoid being seen… the lamp only illuminated certain things, though. He had... quite dark, untidy hair under an old cap that was a little too small... an old, patched-up coat... um... I think he had a scar on the cheek facing the lamp, but it could've just been the shadows..."

Not very much to go on, is it?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, but it has been a long day. I was tired and thinking of other things; I really didn't expect to need to be able to describe him after he had shoved off. But I could identify him, right enough, if I saw him again."

Well, that is better than only having a poor description. "Excellent! Thank you, Inspector; it may be important. I shall let you know, if I need you to help in identifying the fellow."

Lestrade sniffs and finishes off his drink. "Thank you for the hospitality. I'll let the doctor know you were worried about him."

"You shall do no such thing! Watson's pride would be hurt. But... perhaps you could remind him not to tend the sick in… the less savoury areas, shall we say, without the means to defend himself."

The inspector chuckles and sets aside his glass. "Consider it done."

"Thank you."

I hand him back his (somewhat warmed) coat and see him out. Thank goodness Watson had the good sense to think of running to our mutual friend, when in danger!

"I'll drop the good doctor back here on my way to work in the morning," he tells me. "And, if I am unable, I shall see that one of my constables does so in my place."

I thank him, shake him warmly by the hand and escort him down the stairs in order to see him out. Truly, I am grateful to him. Oh! But it is deucedly cold out! There is indeed a wretched freezing fog - even the lampposts have ice on them, sparkling in the gas light. I wrap my dressing gown about myself with a chill shiver as I watch Lestrade return to his cab.

"Don't hang about on the doorstep to see me off," the inspector advises me with a wag of a finger. "I may not be a doctor, but I am a parent - I know enough about health and wellbeing."

Ha! I am neither, but I myself know sufficient. All the same... I believe I shall indeed go back inside.

"The inspector said that Doctor Watson would be staying the night at his house, sir," Mrs. Hudson says, coming into the hall as I enter from the vestibule. "Is his wife ill? Or one of the children? I might drop some chicken soup around, tomorrow..."

I conceal a sneeze before attempting to answer. "Watson is staying the night as a guest, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh! You have not had another squabble, have you? You should remember to be kind to the good doctor, Mr. Holmes! I am sure I don't know what comes over you, at times, but you take his good nature for granted..."

"Mrs. Hudson!"

She jumps and stops mid tirade.

"Mrs. Hudson," I repeat in a much gentler tone, lightly touching her hand. "We have not quarrelled. Watson was being followed by an unsavoury gentleman whilst on his rounds and thought it best to go to Lestrade's as his house was closer."

"Oh! Oh, thank goodness he is all right!"

"Yes, indeed. Thank goodness he knows Lestrade well enough to go to him, as well. I am not sure that it would have occurred to me to do so, independent as I am."

She smiles and touches my arm. "Would you like your supper, now that we know that Doctor Watson is all right?"

"Yes please, Mrs. Hudson. Now that we know that there is no need to wait for the good doctor's return."

Why does everyone appear to be under the impression that I fret about Watson so?