"Oh," she says softly, her eyes falling on the door to Holmes's room again. There's not much room for hope in the set of Watson's shoulders just now, and that is worrisome; that is worrisome indeed. She wrings her own hands, just once, clenching them in front of her, and she allows herself ten seconds to seriously consider what she would do if Holmes winked out of existence. It hardly seems possible that that man could fade away like this, waste away in a sickbed, and suddenly just be no more.

"Oh, Dr. Watson." She closes her eyes and steels herself, drawing on all the brusque necessity she can muster to get herself through this. "What can I do? Have you eaten?"