Two days later, I still would have preferred an uncomfortable train ride over the endless monotony of an empty flat. A single year had spoiled me. Whether Holmes barging in to discuss his experiment or an unexpected client knocking on our door, we did not have hours on end with perfect silence and painful solitude. Mrs. Hudson had decided to spend longer than just the initially planned day with her sister, and yesterday had passed at a crawl as I alternated trying to read, realizing I had spent the last hour thinking, and wandering through the kitchen in search of something even remotely appetizing. I had no wish to repeat the sequence today, but patients at the charity clinic would only frustrate me, and staring through the fire brought its own dangers—that I was not yet willing to indulge. Did I need to run any errands?

Just the courtyard. Arthur's cut had been worryingly deep, and as I had not made it down there yesterday, I should stop by today. Just because they would have come or sent for me in the event of a problem did not mean I could neglect checking. Especially with Arthur Major. The elder Arthur's quiet personality and black and white worldview made him nearly as bad as Holmes about admitting injuries.

Which provided a reason to go there this morning—aside from simply killing half the day. Putting away the cold cuts in which I had no interest anyway, I retrieved my bag from the sitting room and waved the first cab I saw. The clip clop of the horse's hooves quickly became a mind-numbing cadence that let my thoughts wander freely.

Research. On a topic Holmes had already proven himself a regional expert. He could have just said that he had tired of my company. I would have understood, would have willingly gone upstairs rather than chase him out of town. He knew that. So why had he tried to conceal it?

Unless he did not intend to return? Could he have decided to leave and covered it with "research" rather than deal with any kind of farewell?

Possible, I acknowledged, but unlikely. My friend was far too straightforward to do something like that. His claim of wanting to research soil deposits was undoubtedly a farce, but I did not think it covered a more permanent absence. Perhaps he had simply not wanted to voice the topic. I could think of several subjects whose discussion would both embarrass my friend and make more sense than dirt. Holmes could identify London's many soils given only color and consistency. He did not need to read more about them.

Though he had to know that even the more unusual topics were not off limits around me. A doctor dealt with some of the most embarrassing days of a person's life, and our medical lessons had covered far too many of them. What could he be researching that he did not wish me to know?

Nothing came to mind, but the cab lurched to a halt before I could consider it further. Limping steps carried me slowly toward their archway.

"Hiya, Doctor!" George nearly bounced up behind me, his wide grin missing yet another tooth. "Have you seen Doris?"

"I have not," I replied as a quiet giggle carried down the alley. "You might try around the next corner, though. She cannot hide her laugh as well as she wishes."

The giggle abruptly silenced, then George took off running, dodging the alley's various debris on his way to the young girl just as quickly choosing another hiding spot. A faint smile escaped as I ducked through their archway.

"Good morning, Doctor," Jackson called from the other side of the courtyard, where he had apparently been leading a reading class. "I'll be there in a moment."

A gesture prevented him from hurrying, but he still jogged across the cobblestones before I could spot the elder Arthur. A smirk appeared the moment he was in range.

"You lookin' for the clutz?"

"I am not a clutz." Arthur poked his head out of a nearby cubby, scowling at Jackson's ribbing. "I told you. I tripped."

"Over flat cobblestones," Jackson agreed, still grinning. "Danger prone just like my sister."

Arthur grumbled something about "worthless mischief," but a glance at me prevented him from truly replying. He moved to crawl out of the hole before I could help.

"Easy." My knees hit the cobblestones to let me grab his upper arm, barely halting a sudden loss of balance. "You will rip your stitches if you are not careful. Do I need to take you back to Baker Street?"

He pulled a face. "No, I can stay here. And I had help getting in there," he added quickly. "Thought I could crawl by myself." Another grimace announced he had aggravated the injury. "Guess not."

"You will heal soon enough." Shifting him to lean against the wall, I pulled his shirt back from the near stab wound on his side. "Do the stitches itch?"

"Yes." He gritted his teeth, obviously refusing to scratch the irritation only magnified by my exam. "They've gotten better, though. Yesterday was really long."

"I can imagine." I saw no sign of infection, and a new bandage covered the wound to prevent the stitches from catching. I leaned away to let him readjust. "I can find nothing wrong with the injury. Send for me if anything changes, but I should be able to remove the stitches in about a week."

"A week?!"

"A week," I confirmed, "and don't try to take them out yourself. I will come back to remove them for you."

He grumbled something about ants in his side—for which I empathized—but decided not to argue. "Help me back to my bedroll? It's too loud out here."

The littles playing in the far corner let out another happy scream on the heels of his words, and I made no attempt to conceal a chuckle when he frowned more at the noise than his injury. I could not blame him, however. Almost the opposite of the courtyard's younger Arthur, Arthur Major preferred quiet, black and white distinctions, and calm study. Doris had long described him as a "wet blanket," and he usually preferred to be alone. A fondness for peaceful solitude made the low hole in the wall much more comfortable than even a more cushioned cot, though with the bedroll nearly out of my reach, Jackson had to help for part of the process.

"Do you need anything from me?" I asked once Arthur finally stopped moving.

"Don't think so, Doctor," Jackson answered with a shake of his head, "unless you want to tell Mr. Holmes that Fiona declared an intention to marry him?"

Amusement escaped in a breathed laugh. That girl would find herself in trouble one of these days. Holmes was not the first to be the object of affection for the Irregulars' youngest. The girl had a crush on every boy she saw.

Though, being all of four years old probably had something to do with it. Fiona had arrived malnourished, neglected, and wary of everyone. From what Holmes had found, young Fiona had never known any kind of love before joining the Irregulars. Little wonder, then, that she grabbed whatever she could.

"Keep an eye on him," I ordered, a pointed look indicating Arthur's hole. "He shouldn't be moving around very much on his own for at least a couple more days, and someone needs to change that bandage every day or so to keep the spot clean. Between you, Charlie, and Mack, you should be able to handle it, but you know you can always send for me."

"Yes, sir. Has Mr. Holmes mentioned another case soon?"

"Stay home…research."

Only concentrated effort kept my expression blank. "Holmes is out of town. Won't be back for a week or more."

"Ah." The noise of understanding joined a nod that declared the topic closed, and a few pleasantries saw me out to the street. With no cabs in sight, I set off walking, my thoughts running in circles yet again.

Soil deposits. We both knew he had no need to research dirt. If Holmes could and would lie to me about a research topic, had he lied to me about other things?

Or, better phrasing, what else had he lied about?

I could not be sure. My friend had always been intensely private. Years of effort had gone into even allowing our friendship, so while I could not be sure we were as close as I had once thought, I knew we had something. He would not have let me move back otherwise.

But if he considered me a friend, why would he lie to me? Could I have broken his trust again?

Unlikely. That could explain a falsehood instead of a more direct "all in good time," but it did not explain anything else, such as why he seemed to want my help with the occasional case—or did not simply ask me to leave. Broken trust would apply to all facets of life, not just his travel plans, and he had disappeared for three years the last time I had erred so grievously. What could explain everything?

I could think of nothing. I had never been able to read my friend as he could me. If he did not want me to know his thoughts, I never would, which led to a different question.

If I assumed a compromise scenario—that he wanted me available but not always nearby—what did that mean for his trip and my presence at the flat? Was he hoping I would do something—or not do something—while he was gone?

Did I need to look—

"Gretta!"

"Leave my sister alone!"

A young scream carried easily down the street, accompanied by another voice, and I looked up to find two older girls frantically trying to free the youngest from a leering man's tight hold.

"Let her go! Help! Someone help! You're not our father!"

The blackguard had chosen a rather empty portion of street, and the few people closer than I either had their hands full or would never win an altercation. I sprinted toward the girls, dropping my medical bag to the ground to take my cane in both hands. While not my sword cane, the sturdy wood would still do more damage than the plessor in my bag. The ruffian did not see me until moments before I slammed into him.

"He has a knife!"

The oldest girl saw me sooner, but her warning still came a moment too late. I barely felt the injury, however, too busy swinging my cane at his arm. The girl struggled free at the wood's resounding crack, and the dirt-encrusted blade dropped from his nerveless hand. I needed to finish this before he regained feeling.

And before my own injury caught up with me. Warm and wet trickled down my hip to announce a potential problem.

No matter. I should have time to take care of their attacker, and the small feet pounding the cobblestones behind me announced the courtyard had heard the commotion. Jackson, Charlie, and Mack quickly hustled the young ones toward safety. I would follow as soon as I could.

Which would not be as long as I had originally feared. Another set of running footsteps said the nearest Yarder had heard us as well, and I ducked a fist as the young man rounded the next corner. Recognition bloomed when he spotted me, though even working together required several minutes to pin the would-be kidnapper. We both breathed a sigh when the cuffs clicked.

"Charges?"

"Attempted kidnapping and assault and battery with a weapon," I answered succinctly, forcibly slowing my heavy breathing. The injury twinged at the movement. "I can come by the Yard in a day or two for a full statement, but at least one of those children was hurt."

A nod joined a wave to dismiss me. I turned to find an older lady standing several feet away.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked as she passed me my bag. "Your shirt has blood on it."

"I'm fine. Thank you."

She opened her mouth as if to say more, but I merely retrieved my cane and hurried for the courtyard. The oldest had been holding her side as the Irregulars rushed them away, and the other girls could have been injured as well. They mattered far more than I did.

"Doctor!"

Several of the oldest children loitered near the archway in a clear Alpha Protocol, but Jackson's call directed my attention to the tight huddle near their emergency exit. The three girls sat against the wall, the youngest tiny between them as Mack held a rag against the oldest girl's side. I knelt beside him, preparing myself to soothe three frightened young ones.

I found calm gratitude instead. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I thought I was gonna have to tell mum that he took Amy."

Amy curled harder against her sister at the words. I pretended not to notice as Mack moved away to let me reach the still bleeding injury.

"You are most welcome." First glance showed a substantial amount of dirt in the wound, and the water one of the littles had already fetched slowly rinsed the grime away. "What is your name?"

"Gretta, and she's Violet." One finger referenced the middle sister shyly smiling at Charlie's running monologue. "Father's work brought him to London for a few days, so we're staying in a motel with mum."

"This will sting," I warned as I exchanged water for disinfectant. "Which motel?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, a flinch at my actions failing to hide her deep thought. "I can't remember the name," she admitted. "We just got here yesterday, and I can't get that man's face out of my head. Violet, do you remember the name of our motel?"

Violet slowly indicated a negative. "Sorry, Gretta. I don't think I ever read the sign. Amy wanted to look at everything, and Mum told me to keep up with her while you two took our stuff to the room." She paused for a long moment. "We were in room eleven, and the building was a square with a courtyard in the middle. Amy and I ran the full loop before she let us catch up with you."

"The front had a lot of fancy woodwork," Gretta supplied, "and fresh flowers in the gardens. Between that and never going more than one street off the motel's, I thought I would be able to find the place again."

"How far have you walked today?"

"We started just after sunup," was the reply, "and we walked toward the sun so that walking away from the sun would take us home." A glance noted the midday light filling the courtyard. "Mum is probably looking for us by now."

That narrowed it down only slightly, though I did not say as much. "We will help you find her," I promised, "but I would prefer you stay here while the Irregulars look. That man's knife was dirty, and even with the steady bleeding, I cannot be sure I cleaned it well enough. I don't want you wandering the streets if that starts showing signs of infection."

"Doctor, would yew look at this?"

Charlie's question overlaid Gretta's grudging agreement. I quickly finished anchoring her bandage to check Violet's arm.

"Oi fink there's stuff in it," he added. "See?"

I easily saw the flecks he referenced. "You are correct. I need to wash your arm like I washed Gretta's side, Violet. Charlie, hand me the bowl?"

A steady trickle slowly flushed the visible particles out of the cut. I followed with disinfectant before wrapping a bandage around it.

"Are either of you injured anywhere else?" Twin negatives became a triple when I directed the question at Amy, but footsteps sounded behind me before I could set my bag aside.

"Doctor, you're bleeding."

A gesture brushed off Jackson's worry. Had been was probably more accurate. I doubted it still bled.

"It is small," I promised. "I will clean it later. Do some of you have time to run a relay in search of their motel?"

"Already started," Jackson said shortly, "and there's no reason for you not to let me clean that here. You said yourself that Mr. Holmes isn't home. Lift your shirt out of the way."

I made no effort to restrain a scowl, but his pointed glance at the sisters gave me no option but to comply. While he should not have to treat me, I did not need them wondering why I had cleaned their injuries but refused to do anything for my own. Water soon ran over and through the skin, followed by the light, burning touch of the disinfectant.

"This is a deep one. How do you know if it needs stitches?"

"Do the edges touch or nearly touch?" I glanced back in time to see him nod. "Then it does not need stitches. Is it still bleeding?"

"A little," he answered, "but mostly because of me, I think. You want a regular bandage or a compression?"

"Regular should be fine." Slightly clumsy fingers fastened the cloth, and I quickly adjusted my shirt to hide it. "Thank you. I will stay for a few hours so you can lead their mother here if you want."

And so that I could monitor them, but I would not specify that again. Gretta and Violet started trying to convince young Amy to go play with the others as I claimed a seat at one of the Irregulars' few tables. At least spending the day in the courtyard offered more diversion than sitting in the empty flat. Several of the boys would probably beg for medical lessons soon enough.


Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review :)