A/N: Dear all - yes, it HAS taken some time to get this current installment done... Thanks for having stayed tuned!Comments are of course most welcome!Please bear in mind, I am NOT a specialist on medical issues, let alone amnesia. So, while I have tried to depict it as faithful as possible I can not guarantee that it all is accurate. But anyway: Hope you'll enjoy!!

“Well…” I cleared my throat. “As you still require a lot of rest and your head would currently not appreciate extensive reading, I thought I might take care of that part. So you can relax and listen and draw your own deductions.”

I could not help but throwing a curious glance at his face to see if there was any reaction when I used the very word, after all one of his favorite expressions. And yes, he did raise a single eyebrow, a familiar habit bestowed on the incidents that raise his attention. But after all, this could simple be referring to my proposal to read to him, a certainly good diversion from his current state of mind.

Anyway, he nodded. “That would be most welcome.”

“Good.” I settled back in the armchair and opened the recollection of our very first encounter. It would be of no use, I decided, to burden his mind with the details of my army past at this point, so I only gave him a rough overview of what had brought me to London in those former days, together with the reasons for the requirement of finding a fellow lodger. Just when I had started on my meeting with the chap Stamford, a slight knock on the door interrupted my story and Helen entered, bringing the soup.

Holmes eyebrows ascended. The previous times Helen had been in his room, he had been still asleep. Granted he did not remember any particulars regarding his relationship (or rather non-relationship) towards the fairer sex. But obviously even his very instincts told him that a young woman inside his bedroom was a rather uncommon sight, to put it mildly.

Helen used her field-tested smile on him: the slightest bit more friendly than one of the professional kind, but not so overtly cheerful as some nurses – for strange reasons – seem to deem appropriate when attending to patients. And there was another thing about her smile: It was self-confident! No, she had never been intimidated by him, not even while he had been in full possession of his masterful presence. “Good evening, Mr. Holmes! My name is Helen Finch, and Doctor Watson has allowed me in assisting him to look after you.” She paused for a moment and added calmly: “That is if you don’t object.”

The effect on Holmes was interesting. He slightly tilted his head and knitted his brow, giving her a sharp look. Then he nodded (carefully as to not upset his aching head). “Thank you, Miss Finch.”

She nodded in return, and without further ado they cooperated in shifting him into a sitting position, placing a tray and a protective napkin on the bed. Instead of a bowl and spoon Helen had provided a cup, thus enabling Holmes to drink the broth without effort, using his one functioning arm.

He took one tentative sip – either not trusting the food or his ability to stomach it – and then another one. I could not help but smile: I had just witnessed a woman (sic!) handling both of the Holmes brothers almost at once “Thank you.”

She gave me a wink and left us alone.

Holmes looked at me expectantly, and I was reminded of my task at hand. “Oh, yes!” I resumed the book and began to read to him.

Never before, when it came to my stories, had my friend proven such an attentive listener – and with an inward smirk I thought that if all went well I would some day be able to remind him of this occasion and tell him those accounts had finally become of some practical use after all.

(t.b.c.)