He sighs through his nose and stills, smoking while Watson works, and he absorbs this information. He has no doubt he'll recover, but the length of time he'll be sick like this, he can't exactly estimate. His leg twinges, and he grits his teeth before he reaches for Watson's free hand and brings it to his lips.

"Anything else I ought to know about my prognosis?" he asks, trying to sound cavalier, but that black mood is creeping back over him; he wills it away as best he can and fixes his gaze on Watson, being attentive and sweet, and he holds onto it to keep him steady.