A Good Talking To
Watson heard voices in his fever.
A voice like old leather: "Get up, old boy! Let's go for a walk."
A voice like Scottish wool: "On your feet, laddy! It's time to stretch those legs."
A voice like hardy tweed. "Shrug it off! There's fresh air to be had out there."
He awoke at last, eyes and mind clear. He saw Holmes seated by his bedside and in a second chair beside Holmes, his tweed walking suit and brogues.
"Awake at last!" Holmes exclaimed with a distinct note of relief in his voice. "How do you feel, Watson?"
"I am glad to hear it." Holmes offered a sip of water, which Watson gratefully accepted.
"What is that?" He gestured weakly to the clothed chair.
"A theory I discovered in one of your medical journals. According to the author it's meant to provide psychological encouragement to you to 'get well, get up, and get dressed'. An absurd conjecture that I am almost embarrassed to admit I have put into practical experimentation. Rest assured I shall lose no sleep should you tell me the effect of its presence upon your health and mental state was nil."
Watson considered for several moments. Vague memories of voices in his delirium. Could it have been...? "No. None."
"As I thought. An amusing notion at best."