I heard Holmes's angry snarl, sounding in my half-conscious mind, and suddenly the blows ceased. I struggled desperately to clear my vision, fumbling for the revolver in my pocket.
Finally I could see - Holmes was not going to win this – I had only taken out one man before I was set upon. At the moment he was sending sprawling the man who had been kicking me but he could not hold his own against three more.
I fumbled my gun out, but my vision was nowhere near clear enough for me to aim properly. I managed a shot into the air before the world tipped again, pain shooting through my chest, and I slumped back to the pavement as the sounds faded.
Gentle hands turned me over, ably checking for injuries. I gasped as they touched what I knew to be broken ribs and opened my blurry eyes, trying to focus.
Holmes looked like death itself, but he was alive and the men had fled.
"Shh, easy, old chap," he said soothingly, "where are you hurt?"
"Just – ribs, I think," I managed, wincing at the movement, "head, maybe –"
"This is all my fault, I let the man's name slip," he choked, turning guilty eyes to meet mine.
"Oh, stop it, Holmes – we're in this together – we are both to blame."