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“Take the guest room.”
He waved the suggestion aside, utter fatigue forgetting to react to my suggestion as he fought to stand. The young man in my consulting room had given himself away the minute he walked in, but I had spent the last hour patiently waiting for him to register that I knew. The hints had not clicked yet.
“You are far too tired to walk across town,” I tried again, “and my sofa is safe enough.”
Silence answered me. A closer look struggled to hide a laugh. Holmes looked one breath away from sleep.
“Sir?”
He barely twitched. I nearly spoke again before grey eyes blinked open. A blank stare quickly flipped to embarrassed horror at my laugh.
“My deepest apologies, Doctor. I—”
“Holmes,” I cut him off, smile widening when he sagged in disappointment. “I recognized you when you entered. Now take leave of the young gentleman’s personality and claim my guest room. You will do yourself no favors falling asleep in a pub in the East End.”
He grumbled something about observant doctors but staggered toward the house behind my practice. Only when the door closed behind him did I return to the desk in my empty waiting room. A failed case last month had seen him devote far too much energy to solving any puzzle he found. With some dozen different cases vying for his attention, he would burn himself out within a few days.
Marriage and a practice on the other side of town did not mean I intended to fail my self-appointed task of “take care of a stubborn detective,” however. This period of overwork for very little reward would soon meet an abrupt end. Two short missives went out with the next post, and I dragged my appointment book closer to start notifying patients.
Lestrade had complained just yesterday about not having enough to do, and Mrs. Hudson knew what he packed for a week’s holiday. Holmes would figure it out soon enough.