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Coda: Granada's Mazarin Stone

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"Brother mine," he said, "bravo," and turned away, but I felt a pang at the praise.

"Sherlock." The tone of my voice caught him mid-step, and he waited, back straight and head high for the bad news. "Watson was injured."

At that he spun back, eyes flashing in the uncertain light. "Badly?"

"Enough so that I thought it better to leave him with the Garrideb sisters. But he would not let them send for another doctor."

"You should have done so then," Sherlock snapped, summoning a nearby cab with a peremptory wave. "Watson makes a worse patient than I do."