I donned my dressing gown, heading for the stairs. Below I heard colourful swearing as Holmes emerged from his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. The doorbell sounded again.
"Who could that possibly be? Lestrade?" I growled.
"Lestrade knows I'd shoot him if he rang like that at one a.m.," Holmes snarled.
I stumbled down the stairs, opening the door.
And snapped fully awake as two little boys fell in.
"Wiggins! What's happened?"
I caught Alfie as he pitched forward.
" 'E fell outta a loft, Doctor!" Wiggins gasped shakily, "didn't know where ta take 'im – 'elp us?"
"Holmes!"
"Put him in my room!"
I laid the unconscious boy on Holmes's bed, turning up the gas.
Holmes clamped a strong hand on Wiggins's shoulder, both hovering nearby. My hands shook as I checked Alfie for injuries, pausing when I came to his arm.
"Arm's broken, and he has a concussion – but it looks like nothing worse," I said.
"'Sright, Doctor, 'ee landed on 'is shoulder."
I set the arm, making him warm and settling down for a lonely night vigil; Holmes and Wiggins retired to the sitting room.
In the wee hours, I was rewarded by two green eyes opening to meet mine, grimacing.
"Blimey, oi don' wanna do tha' ever again."
"How are you feeling, Alfie?"
He grinned at me.
"Got any biscuits?"