By the time we entered Baker Street, Alfie's breathing had become progressively shallower and shorter. Lestrade and I put him in Holmes bed as Holmes lit the candles around us. In the flickering glow, he looked even paler and worn then before.

"Well?"

Holmes question, though asked in a neutral tone, as he was wont, was tinged with the slightest degree of concern. Only I could tell how worried he really was.

"High fever." I said, checking the boy over, "The journey hasn't helped. His breathing is irregular. I don't like this."

"Is it serious?" Lestrade's question, barely a whisper, carried a wealth of meaning behind it.

"I depends," I said, tucking in the blankets, "on what you define as 'serious'."

Lestrade looked at me quizzically. Holmes said nothing.

"He has a high fever which would not be dangerous to any grown healthy men such as us," I said, "But, to a young boy, brought up in the streets, it can have devastating effects." I sighed. "This is going to be a long night, gentleman."

"He's going to be alright." Both Lestrade and I looked around to see Holmes set the last candle by Alfie's bedside. Even in the dim glow, I could see the uncharacteristically soft smile on his face. He nodded at me. "Won't he, Watson?"

I regarded the boy on Holmes's bed and nodded slightly.

"Yes. He'll be fine."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Holmes had bundled me out of Alfie's sickroom saying that I look too exhausted to continue at the moment. Of course, he said all that in his brusque roundabout manner, while I hid a grin.

Lestrade sat with Alfie while Holmes and I sat in front of the fire, warming out the night's chill. I was rather dubious leaving Lestrade in care, but the Inspector 

assured me that he was more than up to the challenge. But I stayed in the sitting room, despite Holmes's remonstrance that I should go to bed.

"Watson?"

"Hmm?" I glanced at my companion. He appeared to be looking at the fire.

"At their den….the song that you were singing…."

I immediately blushed a fiery red. So he had heard me!

"I-"I could not formulate an answer, "That is-"Thankfully Holmes saved me the necessity.

"That song you sung. It wasn't English."

I nodded, keeping my head bent. The fire crackled in the silence. Finally I spoke.

"It was Afghani."

I heard Holmes draw in a sharp breath, "Maiwand?"

I nodded silently. There seemed to be no other answer.

"You sang well."

My head snapped up and looked at Holmes incredulously. He was smiling. At my incredulous look, he tilted his head a little to the side.

"What's so shocking about it?"

I finally found my voice. "You liked it?"

"Of course." He was looking at me quizzically. "It sounded very…tragic, though. What song was it?"

I looked into the fire, conjuring up memories of a time long past. "It was a song…sung by children."

"Children?"



I nodded. "Yes. Children waiting for their fathers to return home."

"Sahib! Sahib!" The rag tag group of children gathered before me as I dismounted my horse. A small pool of blood lay around the fallen man, and I bent to inspect him. It was a head wound. Clearly the man I had shot from the distance.

"Save him, Sahib! Unhe Baccha Lo! Sahib!"

"I was separated from my group." I whispered, knowing that Holmes's eyes were on me. "I wandered for hours onto the end, until…." I took a deep breath and felt the touch of Holmes's fingers on my arm.

"Easy, Watson." He murmured. I smiled at him gratefully.

"I saw a man at a distance, and though that he was one of the Ghazis. At that time, I was…young. I have no excuse. So I fired at him."

"Did you…hit him?"

"Yes. On the shoulder." I gave a little shudder as I remembered the way the blood showered up and the sudden shocked look on his face. "I could have…killed him."

I felt Holmes's' fingers tighten on my arm. "But you didn't."

I gave a small smile. "Yes. On account of the children behind him."

Ok once again the story is not going where it is supposed to go. I'm getting seriously annoyed now. It should have finished with this chapter already! Well, I guess one more chappie to go!