"Starving yourself won't help either of you," she points out, not too gently, but not unkindly either. Her attempt at a strong facade is failing, and she settles on the couch next to him, reaching out a hand to pat his shoulder. It pains her to see him stricken like this, as much as it pains her to think of Holmes in there, wasting away, and there really aren't any words that would make this any better.

"There, now," she murmurs. "I've some broth; I'll just heat it up, add a little to it. That ought to do for you and Mr. Holmes both, should he wake and have an appetite." That's hardly adequate; she presses her lips together and tries again, giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

"I can be a good nursemaid, when it comes down to it. Let me shoulder some of this burden too, Dr. Watson. Lord knows I already am, to think of him so ill."