Almost a full day without your eyes widening in astonishment; without the corners of your moustache twitching in mirth; without your ink-blotted scribblings growing in my honour.  Almost a full day you have lain here, as still as the grave.  Almost a full day since you chose the right fork on a road in the darkening twilight, and I the wrong.

 

I have been informed that if you do not wake within the first twenty-four hours, you are unlikely to wake at all.  

 

You must wake up, Watson, if you have any compassion on your fellow man.  If you do not, I swear to you that the man who did this to will never see the inside of a jail cell.  Nor will I offer him the quick mercy of the noose.

 

Watson!  This churlish delay is unworthy of you!

 

If you would only trouble yourself to open your eyes, you could not fail to deduce how quickly the grey London clouds outside the window darken with the approach of night.  

 

I beseech you, Watson.  Wake, now.  Please, wake.

 

I should be truly lost without my Boswell.