"It isn't supposed to help," Watson pointed out, gently, with the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. "It's diagnostic. And yes, it's necessary."

He tucked Holmes against him, pressing a kiss into his hair. "Go ahead and sleep, then. It will do you good." He stroked his fingers over Holmes's skin, moving them in soothing circles. He himself felt sick with worry, and there was a miserable pit of fear in his stomach. "Shall I get you a drink of water first?"