"Stubborn."

I kept my attention on the stairs in front of me. "Yes, you mentioned that earlier."

Feeling better after getting off my feet for a few minutes, I had tried to climb the stairs without aid, and only his quick reaction had prevented me from falling. I hated how a storm and a long night could render me unable to walk.

"Yet you still try to fall down the stairs."

I rolled my eyes. "This coming from the detective who fell asleep mid step because he likes to forgo sleep on a case. At least I am awake."

"This time."

He steadied me up another stair as I scowled at him. "Every time."

He barked a quick laugh. "No, I suppose you do not remember that."

I stopped moving, letting a spasm pass as I studied him. "Remember what?"

He made no effort to hide a smirk. "In the final days of the last influenza outbreak, just before you fell sick yourself, I found you sound asleep on the third step. You were still upright, propped against the wall, and I woke you enough to go upstairs. You insisted on joining me in the sitting room instead of going to bed, however, and you were still telling me about two of your patients when you sat on the settee, returning to sleep in the middle of a word."

"Humph." I did not remember that, but I did not remember much about the few days before I fell sick myself. That had been a particularly bad outbreak, and I had been lucky to sleep two hours in twenty-four. It was no surprise I had started sleepwalking.

"It is too bad you cannot simply slide up the steps as you did down."

I tried to scowl at him again, but the grin trying to answer his own amusement rather ruined the attempt. I had known he would mention that at some point.

"It was better than making you wait for me," I retorted. "I was not letting you leave me behind, not with the Irregulars in danger."

He made no reply, and we were five steps from the landing before he spoke again.

"What do you think of Edward?" he asked quietly.

"In terms of…" I trailed off, pointedly looking towards his room as I waited for him to finish the question. Did he mean Edward's story about Rodrick or his place as my uncle?

"Both," he answered, "but them first."

I pitched my voice to prevent it carrying to the sitting room, on the chance the boys had beaten us here. "I think he is telling the truth as he knows it, but the Edward I know was slightly gullible. He would believe anything someone told him unless he had concrete proof otherwise."

"You cannot think he would intentionally endanger him?"

I shook my head. I would not have let him come with us if I thought Edward would endanger any child. Or any adult, for that matter.

"I doubt it," I answered, "but after—That is, I do not know, and I will not trust this to induction. What do you think?" I could not discount so many years of abandonment in a few hours, but Edward had done nothing yet to make me mistrust him more than I already did. I could give him a chance, and if the story of Rodrick and Mrs. Emily was true, I would be glad I had done so. I would simply be on my guard until he had proven himself, and Henry would go nowhere until both Holmes and I were absolutely sure. Better to delay reunion a few days than send Henry back into danger.

"I do not have enough data," he replied. "You know I will not form an opinion based on one man's account, and I do not get the Birmingham paper."

I nodded, resting for a moment three steps from the top. "How do you want to handle this?" We normally separated child and adult completely, but that was when the adult was the possible perpetrator. While it was possible Rodrick was Henry's father, I did not think he was. Edward was not that gullible.

"Separate rooms to start," he said as I resumed climbing. "Timothy can relay Henry's reactions, and we can always call them out later. What about Edward?"

He referred to what I thought of Edward as my uncle, and I considered the question. "I do not have enough data." Another grin escaped at the quoted words, but I continued, "I will see how he acts around Rodrick and Henry before I make up my mind. It would be nice to have him back. Harry and I spent several days with him every month when we were small, and I thought Edward and I were close before that evening."

That perceived closeness had made his abandonment that much harder. Mother had asked more than once why I left the room any time Edward's name came up, and it had been many years before I had admitted that we had heard that last argument. Mother had never tried to defend him when I declared he was no family of mine, but I knew she wished I felt otherwise. I had never asked whether she agreed with me.

We reached the landing, and I moved much faster over the level floor. Holmes helped me exchange my still-damp jacket for my dressing gown as I sank into my chair.

"Thank you," I said as he poured us each a drink and claimed his own chair, setting a plate within reach. Mrs. Hudson had left cold cuts on the table, and I wrapped a slice of meat around some cheese and took a bite.

He waved me off, but small footsteps sounded below before he could chide me for overdoing it so badly.

"You can come in, boys," I called as they quietly climbed the stairs. The footsteps immediately quickened, and Tim opened the sitting room door a minute later.

"I told you I was faster!" Henry crowed.

Tim smothered a laugh, apparently having let the smaller boy win another footrace through the streets. "You certainly did," he answered. "Maybe you will grow up to be a runner."

Henry shook his head, following Tim to join us by the fire. Each of them claimed a piece of meat on the way.

"I wanna play with numbers," Henry replied, "like Mum does. If I do good, she'll want me back."

"Do well," I corrected gently, "and your mother should want you no matter what job you get. If she does not, that is no fault of yours. You will always have a home with the Irregulars."

Tim quickly agreed, pulling Henry into a rough hug. "Always," he promised. "Doesn't matter if you go with your Mum or not. You always have a spot next to me."

Henry gave a small smile, leaning into the embrace, but I changed the topic.

"Mr. Kendrick and Mr. Rodrick will be here any minute," I told them. "Go to Holmes' room when they arrive, and stay near the sitting room door. Tim, do you remember the code?"

Yes, he signaled.

"Through Tim," I told Henry, "you can tell us if you know Mr. Rodrick and whether his story conflicts with what you know. Do not come out until we call for you."

Henry nodded, worry beginning to take over his expression again, and I tried to reassure him. "You will not go with Rodrick tonight," I promised, "and you will not go at all unless we are sure. You are safe, Henry. We will not risk your father finding you."

He relaxed somewhat, and Holmes set his drink aside. "Do you know your full name, Henry?"

"Henry Charles Baines."

"And your parents' names?"

"Emily and Ma—" He cut the word off. "Matthew?" he asked hesitantly, then shrugged. "Dunno."

"What is your birthday?"

He thought about it, then shrugged again. "We went to a rugby game for my last one," he said instead, "and I got a sunburn."

"What color were the leaves?" I asked. Rugby was a winter sport, and it was not usually warm enough to get a sunburn at a game.

"Green and yellow."

"Probably September," I answered Holmes' questioning look. "Rugby season is September to May."

He gave a sharp nod as I jotted that in my notebook.

"How old are you?" was his next question.

Henry held up five fingers, thought a moment, then added one.

"Do you know your address?"

"Seventeen Apples in Birmingham."

I smothered a smile, amused at the memory aid he had used, and I noticed Holmes doing the same. A knock sounded below before he could ask another question, however, and Henry immediately straightened.

"It is alright, Henry," Tim told him. "Come on. I bet I can hear through the doorway better than you can."

"Can not!"

Tim grinned but shushed him, and the boys disappeared into Holmes' room as footsteps sounded on the stairs.

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