The blows to the back of my head made me crumple onto my stomach yet again. I felt blood run down my temples, dripping onto the sandy shoreline. The shipyard was eerily quiet, only the sounds of our struggles splitting the night.
I prayed Mycroft had sent for the police. I'd written to ask him to find Gregson, but that seemed like hours ago.
I struggled back up to my knees, catching and holding the stick that was hitting me.
"Holmes." Watson whispered. He was lying on the sand a few feet away; the beating they had given him weakened him extremely. He had been unconscious when they'd first started beating me, now he fearfully stared at me.
"It'll be alright." I mouthed. My bleeding lip stung when I moved it.
I was distracted long enough to fall prey to a cane swung at my lower back. With a sharp rap it hit, causing me to lose my grip on the stick- that promptly hit my jaw.
I was on the ground for several seconds, checking my waning strength. Watson was arguing futilely with our antagonists, who laughed at him.
This had to end! I rose to my knees in a final attempt and was promptly pistol-wiped by one of them. Dizzy and unable to stay awake, I fell into blackness.
This goes out to Demon Shuriken, she asked for a certain unglorified character to become a hero.