Author's note: Sorry it's been so long. I know I've been negligent, but I've been busy with work and trying to get things ready for school and stuff like that. Not only that, but I'm going on vacation and will be at the beach all week, so you won't get any updates until sometime next week at the earliest. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I have left you with a few things before I go.


Adams and Smith were in worse shape than Evans had been. Bruised, bloodied, and unsteady, they were both sitting on the floor, their backs against the wall.

Smith had an arm around Adams, and seemed to be supporting the other man. They were talking in low voices-as we approached, and did not stop as we reached them.

Smith looked up at us, his face unreadable. "That was at Christmas." He said to Adams conversationally. "You never told me what happened there." As Adams started on some story or other, Smith addressed Watson. "Somebody hit him in the head with a bottle. I think he's got a concussion. And he's been stabbed in the shoulder." He added, as if as an afterthought.

That explained the blood leaking from the crude bandage that had been wrapped around the man's shoulder. "And yourself?" Watson asked as he knelt, ignoring the complaint from his leg as he did so.

"I think I landed rather hard on some broken glass." He admitted. "I was picking some of it out of my arm when Adams started trying to pass out on me. I'm fine, sir."

"I'll be the judge of that, Smith." Watson said lightly as he turned his attention to the other Constable.

"Yes, sir." Smith agreed with a chuckle. "Should you be out here, Inspector?" He asked, catching sight of Lestrade, who happened to be settling gratefully, if painfully, into a chair that Willie, the owner of the establishment, had brought over for him.

Lestrade offered Smith a glare in response to his question. "I told you to be careful, Smith."

"Yes, sir." Smith agreed. "I was, sir. I threw a chair at that man that had the knife instead of getting close enough for him to have a chance at me." He smiled up at the Inspector.

Lestrade was not amused. "And who knocked you down, may I ask?"

Smith shrugged. "Some fellow. He got upset when I wouldn't let him finish off Adams, sir."

"He does have a concussion." Watson informed Lestrade as he moved on to look at the man's shoulder. He had to remove a makeshift bandage from over the wound before he could take a look at it, but when he did he did not like what he saw.

Adams eyed his shoulder idly, but with little real concern. Either he had more faith in the Doctor's abilities than Watson himself did, or he was too out of it to realize just how badly he was injured. Watson hoped it was the former.

"Think this'll beat Evan's wound?" Adams asked Smith curiously as Watson got to work.

Smith shook his head. "You aren't in enough pain." He told the other Constable seriously. "Let Evans keep his hard earned bragging rights, poor fellow."

"I'm right here." Evans reminded them wearily.

"So you are." Adams grunted. It was the only indication he gave that he was aware of what Watson was doing to his injury. "And a right fright you are too, Constable."

"You ain't so pretty yourself." Evans sneered. Adams responded with a snort, while Smith actually laughed outright.

Lestrade sighed impatiently, and the three settled down. "How are you, Evans?" The Inspector asked.

Evans shrugged. "I got off easy. No broken bones, no major injuries. Just some cuts, bruises, and a bloody nose, sir."

"Then go home and get cleaned up, Evans, and quit hassling Smith and Adams."

Watson watched, a bit surprised, as the three Constables exchanged a glance, and Evans hesitated. "If you don't mind my saying so," Evans ventured cautiously, "I was just about to offer to help clean up Smith's arm, with the Doctor's permission, sir."

Lestrade considered this, then looked to Watson. "If you're careful about it, Evans." The Doctor agreed.

"Of course, Doctor." Evans replied. "It's not the first time I've had to pick glass out of someone."

"Doubt it'll be the last." Adams chimed in.

Evans set to his task with a will, and Smith set to grumbling under his breath.

There was another moment, as Watson started to stitch up Adams' shoulder, when it seemed to him as if the three Constables were trying to have a silent conversation without Lestrade noticing.

Finally, Smith cleared his throat. "Er, Inspector?" He asked, almost reluctantly.

"Smith?" Lestrade replied uneasily. He seemed to know something had just taken place, even if he didn't know what.

"Shouldn't your shift be about over by now, sir?" Smith asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pressed on. "I think everything is pretty well under control here, sir, so-" he faltered for less than a second before continuing, "so you don't really need to be here. Perhaps you should head on home, sir." He suggested at last, and the three Constables tensed.

Lestrade scowled at the three of them for a few seconds before he shrugged, got painfully to his feet, and bid them all good evening.

"Thank you, Doctor." He said, before turning back to the Constables. "Don't get killed on your way home." He growled. Then he left.

Watson was impressed. Evans favored Smith with a smug grin. "I told you he likes you two best."

"Nonsense." Smith retorted. "You just have to know how to handle the Inspector. And it never hurts when he knows you're right."

Evans rolled his eyes. "Smith and Adams are his favorites." He told Watson.

Adams snorted weakly. "And by favorites Evans means that Lestrade likes to drag us along on the dangerous jobs because we're pretty good at not getting killed."

"It helps to know when to keep your mouth shut, too." Smith offered. "Lestrade doesn't care for small talk when there's work to be done."

Watson finished up sewing Adams' injury and began bandaging it again. When he had finished, he turned his attention to Smith's arm.

Evans had known what he was doing, and it was only a minute or two longer and Watson was wrapping his arm up as well.

Evans waved him off when the Doctor would have looked him over, and the three Constables got to their feet and thanked Watson for his help before Evans said goodbye and left and Smith promised he'd make sure Adams made it home.

"Goodnight, Doctor." Smith waved as he and Adams climbed into a cab. "Thanks again. Sorry to inconvenience you."


Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.