WATSON (voiceover): The second Afghan War brought honours and promotion to many.(In the flashback/dream, Watson is squatting down to a fallen colleague. In real life, Watson rolls over in bed, trying to get back to sleep.)
WATSON (voiceover): ... but for me it meant nothing but misfortune and disaster.
(In the flashback/dream, still tending to his colleague, Watson cowers as another shell explodes and he is showered with earth. Some distance away, an enemy soldier squints along his rifle and pulls the trigger. The bullet impacts Watson's left shoulder and he falls to the ground. In his bed, Watson thrashes into a new position, groaning quietly. In the flashback/dream, one of Watson's colleagues drags him to safety.)
SOLDIER: You all right, Captain?
(Watson wakes up again, his face covered with sweat. Before his open eyes he can still see explosions going off on the battlefield.)
The scene changes to a London street in the 1880s. The road is busy with horse-drawn carriages, and there are many people walking along the pavement.
WATSON (voiceover): I returned to England with my health irretrievably ruined and my future bleak.
(Watson limps along the road leaning on a cane.)
WATSON (voiceover): Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are drained.
(As his narration was happening, a voice could be heard calling out, "Watson!" Now the man calls out again.)
STAMFORD: Watson!
(Watson turns to see a man smiling as he approaches him.)
STAMFORD: Stamford. Remember?
(Watson looks blankly at him.)
STAMFORD: We were at Bart's together.
WATSON: Yes, of course. (He shakes hands with the other man.) Stamford.
STAMFORD: Good Lord! Where have you been? You're as thin as a rake!
Later, they are standing at a table in the crowded bar of the Criterion.
WATSON: I made it home. Many weren't so lucky.
STAMFORD: So what now?
WATSON: Hmm? I need a place to live. Somewhere decent, and an affordable price. It's not easy.
(He drinks from his glass of beer. Stamford chuckles.)
STAMFORD: You know, you're the second person to say that to me today.
WATSON: Hmm? Who was the first?
In an underground mortuary, a man is repeatedly and violently flogging a corpse with a heavy walking stick. Currently we can only see the back of his head. Watson and Stamford walk into the corridor leading to the mortuary and Watson looks through the window of the room with surprise.
WATSON: Good Lord!
STAMFORD: It's an experiment, apparently. Beating corpses to establish how long after death bruising is still possible.
(Watson watches the man a little uncomfortably as he continues to flog the corpse. Eventually he turns and limps away.)
WATSON: Is there a medical point to that?
STAMFORD (following him): Not sure.
WATSON: Neither am I. So, where's this friend of yours, then?

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