Danger!

I nearly stumbled as the warning slammed into me, forgetting all about the errand I had been planning to run as I gripped the wall to stay upright. What was it? Where? When?

Nothing. The pulsing warning only said soon, and I hurried to Holmes' desk, searching for anything I could use to find him. A note scribbled and pinned to the side served as a reminder that he had a meeting with Shinwell Johnson on Regent Street shortly before noon, and I glanced at the clock.

The hands pointed to half past eleven. I rushed out the door, grabbing my sword cane and revolver on the way.

Ignoring my leg's complaints, I sprinted up the street, not daring to take a cab that could get caught in a crowd but needing to reach him in time. I knew nothing other than that he was in grave danger, and I berated myself for letting him go alone. I knew Gruner would do anything to stop Holmes. I should not have let my friend out of my sight while this case was ongoing.

I slowed as I reached Regent Street, scanning faces and alleyways. The pulsing warning said I had only minutes to act, and without a more specific warning, I had no way of knowing in which alley they had decided to meet.

A commotion sounded up ahead. There!

Dodging through the crowd, I locked my gaze on the small knot of people fighting on the sidewalk and resumed my sprint, refusing to slow even as I called apologies when I bumped into others.

Two men attacked Holmes with Penang-lawyers, and for a moment, he seemed to be holding his own. As I drew closer, however, he knocked one man aside only for the other's stick to solidly impact his head.

My friend crumpled to the ground, and I let out a scream.

"Holmes!"

The blackguards broke off their attack and sprinted into a nearby restaurant, but I focused more on where Holmes lay on the cobblestone than on catching the men that had attacked him, desperately hoping that I had not been too late.

"Holmes!"

I feared the worst for a moment, but he roused as I kneeled next to him, glancing at me with a hint of confusion that quickly cleared.

"Holmes?" I asked quietly, checking him over as I tried to hide my panting. I would pay for that run later.

He flicked a hand, brushing off the question as he pushed himself upright and rubbed where the stick had impacted his head. "I am alright. It just stunned me." He paused, then focused on me. "What are you doing here?"

"Never mind that," I answered, using the excuse of checking him over to prevent him from seeing my expression. "I'm just glad I was. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Of course." He tried to stand but swayed, sinking back to the ground, and only the small footsteps pounding the cobblestones behind me prevented me from voicing a word I had learned at the docks.

"You sure are fast, Doctor! Is—uh, oh. Mr. Holmes?"

I glanced over to see Tim Minor—now Middle Tim, with the addition of yet another Tim the previous week—standing behind me and staring at where Holmes sat on the ground.

"Get us a cab, Tim. Charing Cross is only a couple of blocks away."

Holmes muttered something.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Baker Street," he answered more clearly, flinching as his searching fingers found the knot on his scalp. "There is no need to go to hospital."

I frowned at him. "Holmes, you have a concussion at the least, and Charing Cross is closest."

"No hospital," he insisted, focusing a pain-bleared gaze on me. "I will be fine after some rest, and I will rest better at home."

I hesitated, staring at him, and he stared back, alert despite the pain I could see in the corners of his eyes.

"Alright," I relented after a moment, "but we still need a cab. Tim?"

"Right." He trotted off, coming back barely a minute later, and I finally pulled my gaze away from Holmes as a cab pulled up behind me.

"Help me stand him up," I said to Tim as I draped Holmes' arm over my shoulder. He helped me steady Holmes, but we barely got my friend to his feet before my leg gave out, dumping me on the ground with an involuntary cry. Tim stumbled but supported Holmes' weight alone, and I struggled to regain my feet.

"Watson?"

I shook my head, denying that anything was truly wrong as I ignored the way he studied me, his gaze no less keen for the pounding headache he must have.

"Can I be of service?"

A young man that had been part of the crowd around the attack stood above me, offering his hand to help me to my feet, and I took it after only a moment's hesitation, thanking him as I did so.

"That was quite a sprint," the man said conversationally as he and Tim helped Holmes into the cab. "Did you ever compete?"

I did not answer immediately, leaning heavily on my stick as I watched Holmes for signs of further injury. "I played rugby in school," I finally replied shortly, unwilling to give Holmes any more information about how I came to arrive where he was under attack.

The young man grinned. "I should have known that. You still run like a rugby player."

He watched for a moment, making sure I needed no more help, then nodded a farewell and disappeared into the crowd. Tim disappeared as well before I could offer him a ride, and I worriedly kept an eye on Holmes throughout the slow ride home. I had been in time, yes, but that had been far too close.

At his insistence, we published an account in the evening paper heavily exaggerating the attack, but even knowing that the account was false, I still watched my friend carefully over that long evening. A minor concussion meant he would need to stay awake for several hours, and I let him think I was monitoring his concussion symptoms instead of assuring myself that I had not been too late. What-ifs ran through my mind, and I would need to banish those if I wanted to sleep tonight.

I already knew I would not be able to banish them completely, however—not when every blink brought the image of him collapsed in the street, unmoving.

We made quite a pair that evening, he with his concussion and I limping heavily from the two-mile sprint to reach him. I refused to answer when he asked why I was limping, but I worried that his keen gaze had already noticed more than I wanted him to know.

I was right to worry. It came to a head the next morning.

"You are precognizant."

I nearly spit out my coffee, looking over at where he sat in his chair, watching me.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are precognizant," he repeated.

I frowned at him and put down my cup to limp across the room.

"Are you feeling dizzy?" I asked, checking him for fever as I would if he had accused me of any other supernatural power.

He swatted my hand away, a smirk battling a scowl for dominance.

"There is no reason for you to sprint from Baker Street to Café Royal unless you expected something to happen," he insisted.

"What makes you think I started at the flat?" I asked, as if humoring him. I continued checking him for complications of his concussion. "I told you I had a few errands to do yesterday."

"Young Tim was quite willing to tell me about how fast you ran. He had never seen you sprint like that, and it amazed him that you left him behind."

I made no answer, examining him, and he frowned at me.

"Stop pretending you believe me to be ill," he chided. "Your acting got better after Switzerland, but I can still see through you. How did you know to go to the café?"

My evaluation was finished anyway, and I rolled my eyes at him, still trying to throw him off track. It would be hard to protect him from a padded cell. "I didn't. I just happened to be there at the right time to hear the commotion. Precognition is a child's fairy tale, and you know it."

He huffed at me. "So is night vision, yet here we are," he shot back.

I stared at him, sitting heavily in my chair. "Night vision?" I repeated.

He squirmed in his seat. "I should not have said that," he backtracked.

"So, that was your wish."

I watched him, waiting for him to connect the pieces of information, but he just stared back at me.

"My wish?" he asked.

"One of our first clients after you returned," I replied. "You refused money, and he claimed he had a genie and offered you one wish, anything you wanted. You scoffed and stormed out, but he said you had wished silently. How did you not tie a sudden ability to see in the dark to that?"

He fidgeted again. "It did not notice it immediately," he finally admitted, "and I have always been able to see better than you after dark. By the time I acknowledged that it was unusual, it had been long enough that I did not recall his offer. You started acting strangely soon after."

And he had been more focused on deducing what had changed with me than finding the source of excellent night vision. I considered that for a moment, finally deciding not to comment. "Why did you choose night vision?"

He shook his head. "That was the case where we were attacked in the cave," he answered quietly. "I remember wishing I had been able to warn you before you were injured."

I smothered a chuckle. We had wished for exactly the same thing: to protect the other. The only difference had been that I had taken it seriously and phrased accordingly, while he had denied the illogical.

He caught my amusement, raising an eyebrow at me. "Why did you ask for precognition?"

"I didn't," I replied with a smirk. "This was right after you returned. What do you think was still on my mind and would have heavily influenced my wish?"

He thought for barely a moment before realization and guilt flashed in his eyes. "You wished to protect me."

"Of course."

"Why did you hide it?"

I scowled at him. "Why do you think? You would never have believed me, and it would be impossible to do anything from a padded cell." He opened his mouth to protest, but I continued over him. "It took you nearly ten years to figure it out. You cannot say that you would have taken me seriously if I had told you I could occasionally tell the future."

The protest died unspoken, and he stared at me. "How often have you foreseen something and changed our path to avoid it?"

I leaned back in my chair, debating whether I wanted to answer.

"Watson?"

"Rephrase your question," I said instead of answering.

He frowned but did as I asked. "How many times have you saved my life?"

I thought about that. "At least four times, maybe five or more." He raised an eyebrow, and I elaborated. "Viola strings, ambush in an alley, intruder at the Yard, the man at the pharmacy, and maybe the incident yesterday."

He did not answer immediately, working to recall the incidents I listed. "Why only maybe yesterday?"

"I do not know how far they were planning to go with their attack."

He nodded, accepting my reasoning, then hesitantly admitted, "I do not remember an attack at a pharmacy."

"Good." He scowled at me, and I chuckled. "I was sick, and I refused to let you leave to pick up more fever reducer. You ended up sending Tim, and he came back with the news that the smuggler that had vowed to kill you was loitering near the pharmacy. If I had let you go that day, you might not have returned."

He stared at me. "You were malingering?"

"Some of it," I replied apologetically. "You wanted to leave while I was lucid, and I could not tell you why I would not let you leave. My fever was high, but not quite that high."

He scowled at me again, more for show than out of any real irritation. "Tell me next time," he voiced. Tell me instead of scaring me.

"Will you listen to me?" He nodded. "Then I will tell you," I promised, "though I do not always get a lot of notice. I had barely enough time to reach you yesterday."

He frowned thoughtfully, but I ignored him, glancing over at the table as I debated whether the coffee I had left there was worth getting up to retrieve.

It was not, I decided, and I opened my mouth to ask a question when he stood and crossed the room himself.

"Thank you," I said quietly when he handed me the mug a minute later.

He waved me off, seating himself and voicing a question about how the precognition worked, but I had no answer for him. All I knew was that it did, and I would listen when it sounded. He proved my point when he could not explain how he saw a faded green in pitch black, and the conversation eventually turned to examples. After hiding the abilities from the other for nearly a decade, those carried our discussion through most of the day.

Which was good, because his original plan of surveillance work today would have crossed the path of a certain smuggler with a grudge.

I did not think he needed to know that.

Well Fanfiction finally fixed the glitch! What'd you think of this last chapter? Don't forget to review! :)