Friday; November 9th, 1888:

Watson felt his blood chill as he caught sight of Holmes laying lifeless on the wet stone street. Ignoring the pain in his leg he made his way quickly toward his fallen friend and knelt down next to the unconscious detective. The puddles of rain water and blood instantly stained Watson's trouser leg a sickly crimson that could never be washed. The heavy rain never ceased as Watson began checking over his injured colleague, the cold drops didn't rouse Sherlock in the slightest.

Wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's wrist he released a sigh of relief as he found and counted his friend's pulse. Gently Watson lifted Sherlock's heavy, swollen eye lids and looked into his friends blood shot eyes. Feeling a wave of nausea already welling up in his stomach, Watson steeled himself as he gently pulled the tattered fabric of Sherlock's heavy trench coat away from the bleeding wounds that marred his slender, pale body.

The constables at the scene proceeded to back the crowd of concerned onlookers away from the scene.

Several deep lacerations left painful, seeping wounds on Sherlock's abdomen, chest, arms, hands, right shoulder and collarbone. A small trickle of blood was running from the corner of Sherlock's mouth, down his chin. Looking over his shoulder, Watson sought a man of strength to help him carry Sherlock back to their flat on Baker Street. Only few members of the crowd weren't deterred by the abhorrent sight unfolding before them, one of these onlookers was the same young man who had guided Watson to the scene.

The young man understood what it was Watson would ask of him and without hesitation knelt beside the doctor and injured detective.

"Doctor? What can I do?"

"Help me. I will require assistance to carry him back to Baker Street."

"Baker Street?" The young man was puzzled. "Would it not be best to take Mr. Holmes to the hospital?"

Watson sighed. "I am his physician and friend. I can treat him just as well at the flat as another doctor in a hospital."

Nodding the young man did as he was asked. He positioned himself near Sherlock's legs ready to help move the injured man. Sherlock hooked his arms beneath Sherlock's and proper his injured friend up from the wet, bloodied stone street. Sitting Sherlock upright Watson put his hands on either side of Sherlock's face to hold his head and neck steady as his battered colleague leaned heavily against Watson's legs and chest.

From down the street the echoing clatter of horse hooves and rattling carriage wheels drew close.

One of the constables waved the carriage down and opened the compartment door. Watson allowed Sherlock's head to fall back and rest against his shoulder as he motioned for the young man grab Sherlock's legs. Working together the two men lifted and awkwardly carried the downed detective into the awaiting carriage.

With Sherlock laying flat on his back on the seat of the carriage, Watson used his hands to prop Sherlock's head slightly upward with his hands. His young assistant climbed into the carriage and pounded on the roof of the carriage to tell the driver to go. "221B Baker Street!"

"Yes, sir!" The driver whipped up the horse and proceeded to drive to the address at a swift pace.

Watson used his thumb to wipe to the stream of blood from Sherlock's mouth, leaving a red smudge where the fresh blood had flowed. "Take it easy Holmes, I'll get you patched up before you know it." In his mind Watson began listing every possible complication that Sherlock could experience due to the severity of his numerous injuries and to his prolonged exposure to the cold weather.

The young man had been watching in awed silence as Watson carefully monitored Sherlock. "Doctor Watson?"

"Yes?" Watson never took his eyes from his friend.

"Is Mister Holmes going to make it?"

"Yes, young man. He will." It was then Watson realized he didn't even know the man's name despite all that he had done for both Sherlock and himself. "I must thank you for your assistance, please tell me your name."

"My name is Robert. Robert O'Shay."

"Thank you, Robert."

"Not a problem, doctor. If anything, it was my honor to be of assistance to the great Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Though, I do wish it were under better circumstances."

"As do I."

The carriage came to a halt outside the entryway of the flat. The driver had scrambled down from his seat and opened the door wide as Robert and Watson carefully lifted Sherlock off the seat and down from the carriage toward the door. Moving quickly the driving pushed the door to the flat open allowing Watson and Robert to walk inside without stopping.

"Up the stairs." Watson made his way to the staircase, his back toward his destination.

Obeying Watson's orders Robert carefully walked up the steps, moving only when Watson moved. Step by step the two men climbed upward until they reach the top of the staircase.

"Turn left." Watson was having a great deal of difficulty maneuvering while carrying Sherlock's deadweight with his bad leg.

Robert sensed that Watson was losing his strength and opted to carry Sherlock by himself. With quick precision Robert managed to move of his arms from Sherlock's legs up to his shoulders and he gently took all of Sherlock's weight into his arms. "Doctor, I can carry him for you. Lead the way."

Watson, though reluctant to let his friend go, was relieved to have the strain taken from his own body and equally impressed by Robert's strength. Taking in a deep breath Watson led the way into Sherlock's private quarters and threw back the heavy covers that were laying over the large bed. "Here." He motioned with his outstretched hand.

Laying Sherlock down on the bed with the gentleness of a mother to her child, Robert relaxed his grip and stepped away from the wounded man.

"Thank you, Robert." Watson leaned over his patient and lift his hand to check his pulse once more.

"Do you need me to do anything else, Doctor?" Robert felt as though he needed to stay put.

"Yes, actually. In the room across the hall you'll find a large black leather bag. Please bring it to me."

Without a word Robert slipped out of the room to retrieve the requested item.

...to be continued...