Chapter 11

Surprisingly, Holmes did not start awake, though everyone else leapt to their feet. Lestrade and Adler made it to the door ahead of Watson whose first instinct was to his patient. He didn't know whether to be concerned or relieved that Holmes continued to sleep, oblivious of the commotion in the street. Gisela Louise Marie held back with Mrs. Hudson, but neither was inclined to hide in the kitchen while the men took care of the ruckus.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lestrade demanded as he strode out in the lead. The sight that met him was not the drama they feared or hoped for but could only be described as comedy; the two men he had left out the front door were crumbled in an ungainly heap, limbs hopelessly entangled, while a third man who Lestrade did not recognize attempted to constrain the one responsible. This might have been an alarming or promising development, if the miscreant weren't severely shorter than the assassin Lestrade hoped to capture. It wasn't even the maid Holmes had so recently pointed the finger at.

"Who are you, sir, and why are you detaining that boy?" Lestrade continued, after turning a severe glare on his own men as they attempted to detangle and stand.

"Hey, let me go!" the child yelled in a distinctly gutter accent while squirming wildly within the man's arms, "I'm on business for Mr. Holmes, I am! I'm to report to him!"

"Sorry sir," the man holding him answered, his accent similar to the princess housed within, "My mistress bid me watch the house. This one was snooping around, trying to get in."

"Peter!" Adler exclaimed, winding out from behind Lestrade and ignoring the squirming child as she took in the man, "It has been a long time." He looked at her, no less confused than Lestrade felt at the predatory shake of Irene's trouser-encompassed hips. The child gave one last good squirm and managed to use the man's distraction to slip free. He didn't run, however, but dusted himself off with an indignant flair before standing himself up before the inspector. Lestrade's eyes were still on Adler and didn't even notice.

"There is something very odd about that man," he murmured, beginning to feel uncomfortable as she continued to talk to Peter, who was looking a bit flushed himself.

"If that's what you want to call it," the boy said with a smirk from the vicinity of his chest. With a growl of annoyance, Lestrade snatched for his arm, but the boy easily slid away only to come to a stop again in front of Watson, who was blocking the door.

"That's quite enough," he told him firmly, "Now step in here and leave them to their duty; they don't need distractions." The boy did look contrite at last, mumbling 'sorry, Doctor', as he meekly stepped into the house.

Seeing that Watson seemed to know the boy and had some control of the matter, Lestrade took the time to reprimand his men and look suspiciously at the stranger and Adler before going back inside himself. Adler followed more slowly; the stranger Peter did not.

"So you see, we was to keep an eye on things, and pass her on if she came by," the boy was saying as he walked in, in a hushed tone. The entranceway had grown crowded as soon everyone except Holmes were standing in it, Watson and Mrs. Hudson guarding the way back to the kitchen fiercely between them.

"Secret message left, indeed," Watson muttered, "I knew he wouldn't have left it all in a note."

"Oh, the note was there," Adler remarked as she entered after Lestrade, "Just not the address." Lestrade jumped and scooted away, bringing her closer to where Gisela stood silent but watching all happenings with a keen sharpness. Watson gave Adler a pointed glare to lower her voice.

"Well, I did see some snoop come round," the boy continued, "Three times we seen him bout the place. And I'm to say what I seen to Mr. Holmes, he said. Is he really bad off, Doctor? He was all pale and trembly when I saw him last." The boy looked at Watson with wide, worried eyes, an expression that transformed his youthful face from that of street smart ruffian to scared child.

"Don't worry about it," Watson answered with a gentle smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, "We're taking good care of him. He'll be up and ordering you lads about in no time." The boy didn't look convinced, his eyes moving to try and see around Watson towards the kitchen. "He just needs sleep," Watson said then, pointedly, before trying to turn the conversation back on track. "What's this about a snoop?"

"A tricky fellow, came around more than once I know, and three I saw myself. He changed his hair, first brown then blond. But you could see he was the same, he wasn't half so good as Mr. Holmes with his disguise. Like a changing color's enough to fool anyone!" Lestrade made a noise of annoyance in the back of his throat, probably because his own men didn't notice anything of the kind. The boy glanced at him and said, "He never came up to the house, but he'd walk by all the same. We had the whole lot of us on this case, 'cept those round your hotel, Doctor."

"Holmes asked you to watch our hotel?" Watson asked, seeing the prudence in that but surprised all the same. This was dangerous business, someone was already dead, and standing guard was a bit different than keeping watch on things. The boy, for his part, avoided looking Watson in the eye.

"Not exactly," he answered towards the remains of the carpet, "Just…I'm not stupid, Doctor! He almost died, you could see it, and you were coughing and he near fainted, and you all could've died!" His face became quite fierce then, even dangerous. "We're not letting them get at you again."

"Wiggins," Watson said, his voice stern as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, "You are not to put yourselves in danger. It is not your job to keep us safe."

"Yessir," the boy mumbled through the rebellious tilt in his shoulders. Watson sighed.

"We can't be worrying about what you are doing," Watson instructed him, voice still stern, "We can't afford the distraction."

"Yessir," he repeated, this time appearing more defeated, and Watson squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before releasing it.

"Now," Watson said in a forcedly lighter tone, "Tell us everything you've gathered for Mr. Holmes." At that the boy relaxed even more, taking on a prouder stance.

"As I said, we saw this man snooping, looking round the house without seeming to look. Nothing remarkable about him; head bout up to the tenth notch on the pole." Watson held his hand at almost his own height but a little shorter for the other's benefit while nodding at the boy to go on. "Hair changed, like I said, brown or blond. The brown hair's longer, a wig if ever I saw one, but the blond could be his own. He never changed his face, though he had a beard once. His clothes changed too, sometimes dirty, sometimes clean. Mr. Holmes would have something to say on the mud; I took special note. Nice or ragged, his shoes always had a bit of mud on 'em, that's all I know of it, though."

"Did you hear him speak?" Watson asked.

"Just once, when Johnnie ran into him, stepped right on his toe; man said a lot then, not fit to repeat before a lady. Some of it not in English; he sounded a lot like that guy outside who stopped me, in fact."

"And did he, er, drop anything, when Johnnie ran into him?" Watson asked. Wiggin's eyes darted briefly towards the inspector but he dutifully answered, "nothing to note." Which probably meant money but no wallet.

"So this is it?" Lestrade demanded from where he stood taking notes, "A man who walked by a couple of times and 'snooped'?"

"Well what have you got?" Wiggins asked right back, "He walked right by you lot and you let him by."

"Thank you, Wiggins," Watson said, taking some coins out, "You have been a great help. I'm sure Holmes would be pleased."

"I've got more than that," Wiggins said, standing even taller and addressing Watson more than Lestrade, "We followed him back to his lair, once we marked him as no good. And what's more, you'll never guess the girl he's staying with!"

With a slightly defeated air, realizing Holmes was once again going to be proven right, he said, "The maid Barbara Worth." Wiggins instantly looked so disappointed that Watson felt bad for taking his reveal.

"Yeah, we all knew her right off. Must have been sweethearts, I'd guess." His eyes narrowed venomously, and the words muttered after did not take into account the presence of ladies. Watson merely frowned; Mrs. Hudson, on the other hand, gave him a swat to the head and an admonishment to mind his language. Gisela didn't appear put out, however, just as she didn't appear disinclined to stand in the entranceway and attend to the audience of a street boy.

"We stayed back, like Mr. Holmes always says," Wiggins was quick to assure the doctor while absentmindedly rubbing at where Mrs. Hudson's hand had fallen.

"And you can take us there?" Lestrade demanded. At Wiggin's affirmative, he puffed up importantly and ran out to start issuing orders.

"There, your highness, perhaps we can have this settled soon," Watson suggested hopefully, though he was feeling a bit torn himself. He wanted to hunt down those who had almost killed Holmes; a dark, deeply buried part of himself wanted to wring their necks and watch them choke, just as he had watched Holmes choke on the smoke, on the poison, to see their lips turn blue and their heart seem to cease completely beneath his hand, weak and stuttering…he shuddered and forced such thoughts away. And at the same time he wanted to stay there, at Holmes's side, to watch over him and keep him away from all the danger. He was a doctor. Justice should be left to the likes of Lestrade.

Feeling tight and anxious, Watson turned away from the others and slipped past Mrs. Hudson into the kitchen to check on Holmes. He was, miracle of miracles, still sleeping, his breath slightly wheezing but not enough to cause alarm. He was lain out as Watson had put him over several chairs and did not stir when Watson put his fingers to find his pulse.

It was not the strong heartbeat of a healthy man, but it was not shuddering faint and fleeting beneath his fingers either. It was there. For now, that was enough.

Watson let him sleep, gently pressing back the hair at his forehead under the pretext of checking his temperature, and wondered exactly how angry he was going to be when he woke up and realized they had gone to apprehend the criminals without him.