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Summary
A blurred cream ceiling gives way to Sholmes’ silhouette as he returns to Ryunosuke’s side. “I regret to inform you that what you imbibed was not a medicine intended for the stomach,” he elaborates grimly, “nor any such ailment at all. Come, let us get you up to bed.”
The hand returns with a vengeance, bidding Ryunosuke’s hypersensitive body rise from the sofa. He holds onto Sholmes tightly as he wobbles to his feet, trembling forward as guided. “I don’t understand,” the lawyer says. Each step is a hike, even with the brunt of the effort borne by his landlord. “What did I drink…?”
They land in the Consultancy suite unceremoniously. “A brew meant to address impotence in middle-aged men,” Sholmes tells him gently. “Pardon my intrusion.”
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or no, not *that* head.