(continued from last)
Bloke
"Enough!"
Holmes stumbled backward and swiveled angrily to face the doctor. Watson switched his grip to hold the detective's arms and shook him once with an absent remonstrance. Slowly, the fury filtered from Holmes' paling face.
Instead, the detective's lips stiffened into a line and he assumed an expression of control. Watson did not miss the grimace, however, as the detective turned to glare at the hapless attacker – since crumpled to the ground.
"Holmes, hand me your police whistle."
The detective complied, reaching gingerly for an inside pocket and delivering the item. Watson made the call with his whistle, noting that Holmes' posture was shrinking steadily more protectively about his middle. There was a single answering call from a patrolling constable.
Holmes was watching the simpering London rough with a look of disdain. It was obvious the man was helpless from his injury, so the doctor turned his attentions upon Holmes.
"Let me see," Watson muttered, drawing the detective's coat away. There was a line of dripping darkness slashed across his waistcoat. Footsteps at the front of the alleyway heralded the approaching constable, however, and Holmes waved Watson's hands away. "Later," he ordered dismissively.
Watson subsided unhappily for sake of Holmes' pride. The detective's posture was ram-rod straight when there came the startled demand of, "Cor, what 'appened to this bloke?!"