Ten minutes later we were at the back door. There was a light knock, and Holmes pulled it open. Gregson and Lestrade nearly toppled him over as they darted inside.

Lestrade was somehow supporting Gregson, I realized as Holmes quickly closed the door. Lestrade was gasping, taking in deep lungfuls of air as if he could not get enough of it. "Come on, Inspector." He gasped at the man he was all but dragging, and he headed back towards the perceived safety of our rooms.

Holmes stepped forward, and relieved Lestrade of his burden. The sudden change in weight left the smaller man unsteady for a moment, but he shook his head and followed Holmes.

"Set him down." Lestrade gasped once we were again in the sitting room. Gregson flopped uselessly into the chair and didn't stir. He simply closed his eyes.

"S'fine." Lestrade assured me as he tried to regain some measure of control over his breathing. "Been sick, getting over it, but trip wore him out." I hoped, as I did a quick check over Gregson anyway, that Lestrade wasn't going to revert to a spoken version of his shorthand. Bradstreet had been witness to such a thing once; he claimed it had given him nightmares for a week.

"What trip?" I asked. Gregson did seem to be recovering from a recent illness, and he did appear to be immensely worn out. One eye opened while I was examining the man, but he must have decided I wasn't worth arguing with, because it promptly closed again. Not that Gregson had ever been one to argue with a doctor, but still.

"Fro' the docks." Lestrade was having a hard time catching his breath, and no wonder, if he had dragged Gregson that far. "E was sick. Fine now, jus' canna talk."

Satisfied with Gregson's condition, I turned to the other Inspector. "Lestrade, you're a mess." I said. "Sit down, and let me look at your arm."

"Harder t' breathe that way." Lestrade said with a shake of his head, and I wondered if it were more than exertion that was causing his shortness of breath. "Do watcha want, tho."

That, at least, was something. I helped him out of his jacket, and eyed the rip in his sleeve. It would be easier just to tear the sleeve than to roll it up. Lestrade followed my gaze, and nodded. "Go 'head." He said.

I tore his sleeve further open. Someone had indeed stabbed the Inspector, and I wondered that he had still been able to climb in spite of the injury. I set to cleaning it; Lestrade hardly seemed to notice. His breath caught as I stitched it up, but otherwise he ignored it.

"Let me see your ribs." I said as I finished bandaging his arm. He flinched, confirming my suspicions, but nodded agreeably. I unbuttoned the Inspector's shirt.

His chest, abdomen, and sides were a mass of bruises. "What on earth?" I exclaimed. No wonder he was having trouble breathing.

"E didn't like me much." Lestrade managed half an explanation. But his ribs weren't broken, thank heavens, and he would be able to breathe better after he had rested a while.

I let him remain standing, and turned my attention to Holmes, who was apparently just as puzzled as I was to see the two Inspectors here under these conditions.

I looked back over at Gregson, who was resting peacefully, and Lestrade, who was-

Leaning. He was trying to keep his weight off his left foot. I wondered how I had missed that before, but just then Lestrade caught me looking and shifted his weight to distribute it evenly again. His breath hitched as he did it, but otherwise it didn't show that he was uncomfortable.

"I saw that." I told him, and he shook his head.

"S'nothing." He gasped.

"Sure it is." I said. "Sit down."

"Throws my balance off." He mumbled. "Take the weight off, it's steadier."

"Codswollop." I said. "Sit down." He managed to glare at me for all of three seconds, then limped-actually limped- over to the couch.

I sat beside him and had his shoe of in less than a minute. He winced as I did it, but didn't fight me. "Is this your twisted foot?" I asked, admittedly a little curious. I had never known it to make a difference to the man before.

He nodded, still focusing primarily on breathing.

"Does it often cause you pain?" I asked. He shook his head, apparently not in the mood to argue with me.

"Less somebody decides t' give me grief over it, no." He said.

"Decides to give you grief?" I asked. Now what did that mean?

"Someone notices, thinks they're clever, thinks they'll mess with it." He was still being unhelpfully vague. "Most times it's still fine, people are idiots. This time was a big fellow though, think he was trying to crush it with his bare hands."

I stared. "Why on earth would he want to attempt something like that?" I demanded. Lestrade shrugged.

"I didn't have an answer first time, sure don't have one this time." His breathing was starting to even out, I noted.

"What-?"

"E's the fellow what mangled my foot in the first place." Lestrade finally gave up trying to be vague. "I wasn't born this way."

"So you've met this fellow before." I said carefully. "And he broke your foot with his bare hands."

Lestrade nodded. "It healed, crooked, but doesn't really hurt all that much most of the time. I tend to forget it's there."

I wondered if there had been nerve damage done then, or if Lestrade had just been lucky. I also wondered what his idea of something hurting much was. I didn't ask.

I could see where it had been broken before, and I could see some bruising from where the trick had been attempted a second time. Something tried to catch my attention, but Lestrade had pulled his foot away before I could decide what.

"Nothing broken this time." I offered. "But it's going to be sore."

"I know." He agreed. "Bad enough without me dragging Gregson 'cross the city or climbing up to Mr. 'olmes' window."

"You need some rest." I said. "Can you afford to stay here for the night?"

"Gregson needs the rest anyway." Lestrade replied. "He can't afford not to. And we need your help."

"Will you be able to manage on the couch?" I asked. He nodded.

"That's fine. Thanks."

"We'll talk in the morning, then."

With Gregson and Lestrade taken care of, I turned my attention back to Holmes, who was studying the two Inspectors intently. He would get no sleep tonight.

"You need rest too, Watson." He said into the silence. "Whatever they are running from, they are safe from it tonight."

"You're keeping watch?" I inquired. Holmes nodded.

"I would not sleep tonight anyway."

"Goodnight then, Holmes."

"Goodnight, Watson."

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes, Inspector Lestrade, and the boys at the Yard do not belong to me.