"We could get you a spit cup," he answers. "And set an alarm for the medication."

He gets to his feet, grabbing the crutch and heading for the bathroom, frowning gently at the pain in his legs. One broken, one probably developing sciatica. Lovely combo.

"Hey Sherlock, we're heading to bed. Well, to sleep," he says as he comes out of the bedroom. "Could you do me a favor and fetch a bunch of extra pillows?"