A/N: Well, that was a rather lengthy prologue. I'm wondering if that will reflect how long the story itself will actually come out in the end. I almost made that prologue a one-shot. But, then, it really is needed here in the body of this story to reflect certain elements.

I guess I shall press on and see how this works.

Chapter One

Some six months later in late May of 1883 Watson again found himself in similar circumstances. He woke on the settee to find Holmes hovering worriedly nearby at his desk while pretending all the while not to be hovering. Covering his grin behind a yawn, Watson began to stretch himself carefully in an attempt to work out some of the kinks. Obviously, he had, at some point, lost consciousness in his exhaustion.

"Alright, Holmes," Watson said around another yawn. "I'm just...a little tired."

Holmes snorted, pretending to go back to perusing his papers. Though Watson had caught him freezing to listen more closely to his own movements only moments before. However, Holmes did not bother asking the obvious.

"You really should stop pushing yourself so hard, Doctor," Holmes finally addressed him, turning around in his chair to face his friend. "There are others who can attend to the injured, you know."

Watson grinned slightly, smelling some of Mrs. Hudson's delightful cooking wafting up the stairs to their sitting room. His stomach growled in response as he forced his tired, aching body to a sitting position.

"Yes, but most of them were unavailable at the time, dear chap," Watson responded. "Besides, the Irregulars trust me."

Holmes flashed a brief smile that went unnoticed by Watson. The level of trust the lads and their family members bestowed upon the doctor was not unexpected. Holmes himself had long ago learned that even the most paranoid of people would find themselves trusting the doctor entirely within minutes of having met the man. To his own surprise, he had found himself to be one of them. But, as he watched his friend moving stiffly now toward the tea set on the nearby table, he wondered if the doctor wasn't pushing himself a little too much.

There would always be the poorer of London's inhabitants in need of a doctor's care that were too scared or too poor to afford it. However, the doctor had seemed to make it his own personal mission to see to the care of as many of these as he could reach. He made no mention of recompense of his services, but was repaid in a variety of smaller, more practical ways. In addition to making those rounds, he had begun making rounds at some of the local hospitals. This, at least, provided him with some meager income. But, more importantly, Holmes had watched the man grow and recover far more swiftly than ever he had before returning to his professional calling. In the nearly two years prior to that first night, the man had seemed almost...lost, still. Now, there was not a moment of hesitation or a time when the doctor wasn't working or planning on working somewhere. It almost seemed to Holmes the man was trying to make up for lost time.

And, as ever, he was much involved in Holmes' continuing string of cases.

"I'm sorry I wasn't present last night," Watson commented as he returned to his seat with a cup of tea. "Were you able to catch up to those thieves?"

"Ha!" Holmes said, excitedly turning around to face his friend. "You missed much, Watson. They are not merely thieves, but murders as well."

Watson's eyebrows shot up as this new piece of information. He knew he would not need to prod his flatmate further, as Holmes was swiftly moving around the room in search of some item or another. Before he located this item, he had already begun his description of the events. While Watson had been otherwise occupied caring for the victims of a cab accident, Holmes had gone to investigate a suspected buyer of stolen goods. He had been planning to setup a buy that would trap at least some of the key suspects in the little theft ring. However, the buyer had been murdered that same day. Obviously he had been watched. While this did not sit well with Holmes, it had provided a needed clue to tracking these thieves to their little operation.

From what he had found, there were three conjoined storefronts in the East End that gave all outward appearances of being long abandoned. But, his suspicion was that these were being used to hide the stolen goods and the thieves that seemed to disappear like London fog on a sunny afternoon. As frustrating as this tracking and lack of information had been, he now suspected he was very close to a resolution to this whole messy affair. But, now, more than ever, he would be needing Watson's help.

"Of course," Watson replied to Holmes' as yet unspoken question, concealing his lingering weariness.

If Holmes needed him, then he would be ready. Already planning on another short nap before Holmes' planned activities for the evening, he waited impatiently for Mrs. Hudson to bring up their lunch. He was famished. The work of the last few days had left him more than a little tired. Much to his chagrin, however, he often found himself mirroring some of Holmes' behavior in that his work often left him sleep and food deprived for extended periods. Typically, his work kept him engrossed enough that he didn't have time to give in to the demands of his body. But then there were times that he knew whatever food he accepted would likely leave one of his patient's family members without; and he would continued to ignore his stomach's sometimes painful demands.

Holmes outlined his plan to do a little reconnaissance of the three storefronts that night while he expected the thieves themselves to be elsewhere. He did not know where, and hoped to find out more about the operation as a whole as much as taking down the little ring he had uncovered, thus far. The insult to his professional pride in the form of murder was enough to ensure he would catch them all, one way or another.

Watson listened with only half an ear to Holmes' words knowing he would be given further instructions only when the detective was good and ready to give them. For now, he had more important concerns; such as the sound of slowly approaching feet. Springing from his seat, he set aside his tea cup to open the sitting room door for Mrs. Hudson. Holmes again sniffed disapprovingly as Watson reigned in his impatience. He practically shooed Mrs. Hudson back out the door as he settled down to the table. Only briefly did he cock an eyebrow at Holmes who smiled back as he shook his head in denial.

Watson wasted no time in tucking into his own meal as Holmes continued to dance around the sitting room going over various bits and papers from other cases. He sent telegrams and wrote notes and shuffled papers. By the time Watson was full enough to feel satisfied, he had put away a considerable portion of the meal and was feeling more content than he had in days. The heat of the day combined with attempting to mentally keep up with Holmes' current display of energy left him chuckling into his tea.

"Something amuses you?" Holmes asked distractedly.

I grow tired just watching you, dear fellow, Watson thought to himself. Instead, he stifled his grin behind his cup before replying, "Since it would seem we are going to be out for a significant portion of the night, I believe I will retire to my room for a couple of hours."

Holmes nodded, as if only half listening. Though, based on his relaxing expression, Watson knew he had heard. Obviously he was still in some doubt about Watson's fitness regarding his plans for the night. Hearing that his friend was planning on resting seemed to ease some of his concern. Setting aside his tea, Watson headed up to his bedroom.

~o~o~o~

Unfortunately, Watson found himself tossing and turning rather than sleeping peacefully that afternoon. Though he could not quite pinpoint the cause of his concern, something instinctual told him there was more than Holmes was not telling him. That, in itself, was by no means unusual. But the sense of something out of place was disturbing him more than he could describe. Frustrated at his inability to grasp the source of his restless thoughts, he eventually gave up his attempts at sleep and returned to the sitting room. By this point, Holmes had apparently left for some errand or another and Watson was left in peace.

Enjoying one of these rarer moments when he had time on his hands alone in the sitting room, he took out one of their more recent case journals and began filling in some of the details he'd neglected while working elsewhere. He'd lost count of how often his services as a doctor were called upon these days. Though he had yet to open an official practice, it seemed everyone now knew of his willingness to treat anyone that would ask for his help. Sometimes it seemed a bit overwhelming to realize how much of a demand there was for this time. But, as ever, he refused to back down when someone was in need of him.

For a while he enjoyed the simple peace and quiet of the sitting room and not quite uncomfortable heat of the spring day. He almost toppled from his chair some time later when he realized he had begun dozing off where he sat. Shaking his head at this unexpected turn, he closed the journal and placed it carefully back on the shelf above his desk. He had only just enough time to settle comfortably on the settee when the peace was shattered by Holmes' return.

As ever when on a case with an exciting turn, the man was a bundle of limitless energy. With the sun was already setting, he was all but bouncing around the sitting room with impatience. Obviously he had his preparations in place and was ready to get moving. Watson, still more tired than he would have liked, quickly prepared himself for the night's adventures. The last, lingering traces of exhaustion washed away in the cool night air as Holmes led them across town. The sense of unease had not yet let up, but Watson felt all the more secure for the weighted walking stick in one hand and gun concealed in his jacket pocket. Having Holmes by his side, he felt the familiar tingling of excitement and near invulnerability he had come to look forward to in their shared exploits.

Holmes said very little, beyond repeating some of what he had outlined earlier. Beyond gaining some needed information, he really did not expect much action. He was planning on using Watson more as a lookout than any real backup. As they approached the shadowy storefronts, Watson felt his unease growing. Something seemed very out of place. Gripping Holmes by the sleeve of his dark gray jacket, he forced them to pause in the shadows across the street from their intended target.

"Wait, Holmes—"

"What?" Holmes snapped impatiently.

"Have you any idea what is going on in there right now?" Watson forced himself to ask, fairly certain he was missing something completely obvious.

"Of course not," Holmes shot back quickly, impatient to be about their shady business. "That's why we're here."

"Holmes," Watson started, a hint of warning in his voice, "what am I missing here?"

Holmes huffed a put upon sigh. "Likely everything of any real importance. Now, can we—"

"Something's not right."

Holmes frowned in frustration. He needed to get over there while he was certain the place was empty and unguarded. He really didn't have time for these explanations. The fact that Watson rarely demanded any sort of explanation or clarification really didn't enter into his mind. Knowing full well that Watson would follow, Holmes broke away from the shadows and headed toward the alley beside the corner shop. Hearing a growl of displeasure and then a slight limp as Watson followed him, he smiled to himself.

Too easy, Holmes mused, somewhat snidely.

"Holmes!" Watson hissed, barely above a whisper.

Ignoring him, Holmes turned his attention to the nearby windows. Obviously they had been deliberately darkened with some sort of smeared soot or paint. Nonetheless, he could detect no activity with his keen hearing. Feeling a sense of triumph, he quickly began to test the windows for a way in. As expected, Watson gave up his half-hearted protests to turn his attention to their surroundings as he watched for danger.

Holmes had finally located a window he thought he could open when he was suddenly yanked back down to ground level by none other than his partner. He spun rather rudely, expecting to give Watson a verbal thrashing when his ears finally caught up to their circumstances. Rushing at them from both ends of the alley were half a dozen men. Watson only had enough time to raise his weighted stick before they were embroiled in a chaotic melee that left them no time for words.

In the mess of flailing arms and legs in the darkness of the alley, Holmes' only real advantage was his developed night vision. He greatly regretted the fact that he had not brought a walking stick of his own. But he had not expected to meet any resistence here, as they were supposedly planning a raid of a house all the way across the city. Watson, unfortunately, had had no chance to retrieve his gun from his pocket before they were overwhelmed.

For a while there seemed to be nothing but arms, legs, and the pounding of flesh on flesh as Holmes calculated each blow to do as much damage as possible without permanently crippling his opponent. At his back, he felt Watson doing the same as they wound up each taking three opponents. Being armed, Watson seemed to be faring better, but only barely. Holmes' swirling, calculating thoughts suddenly returned to his friend's recent collapse from having worked far too long without reprieve. He didn't even have a chance to register his sudden flash of concern before the clear and resounding clang of metal on brick gave explanation to Watson's lack of progress in his fight.

One of them was armed with a metal pipe, evening the odds.

However, Holmes had come to know all too well his friend's prowess in the battlefield. He was a fierce opponent. Even as Holmes effectively took down one of his own opponents with a kick to an exposed ribcage, he heard another body fall beside him. Assuming this was one of Watson's opponents, he barely spared a glance in that direction. His mind froze an instant later at realizing the body he very nearly tripped over in his own battle was Watson himself. On his hands and knees and obviously dazed, Watson was struggling to move out of the way. But the thug bearing the pipe had no intentions of letting him get off so easily.

Holmes thought his heart was going to freeze in his chest when he realized the man's target was Watson's head. That much force would easily crush his friend's skull. Too dazed to defend himself, Watson helpless to do more than attempt to shuffle away from the feet all around him. Reacting instinctively, Holmes turned his next punch into a full-armed swing a the man now swinging downward viciously with the pipe. The pipe barely slowed, but it was enough to alter the course. Instead of crushing Watson's exposed skull, it came down with a crushing blow across his left shoulder and head.

Watson did not utter even so much as pained gasp as he collapsed fully on the ground face-down in the muck.

Too late, Holmes realized he'd left himself open for attack. As booted feet and fisted hands forced their way through his feeble, weakened defenses, he could not spare Watson any further thought. He retaliated as best he could, but there were just too many. Even as he was beaten to his knees on the ground beside his friend, he found a random thought of gratitude for the pipe-wielder that had backed off. Even then, he knew this likely did not bode well for them.

The last thing he heard as darkness descended was a shrill ringing in his ears as pain exploded in his head.