"It's all right, Doctor," I murmured quietly, as he shivered and placed his free hand on the wall while I braced his shoulders. "We've got them all – there, that whistle; that's Cummings, back with reinforcements."
He nodded, coughing harshly. That did not sound good.
"I'm…all right," he rasped in defiance of my opinion, nodding gratefully at me as he caught his breath, resting his head against cold stone.
Brief scuffling sounded outside, along with a vehement burst of curses Mr. Holmes had to have picked up in his work with sailors at the dockyards. The Doctor gave a queer kind of sobbing laugh when he heard it, and his eyes flicked over to the door just as a hulking bruiser came crashing through it, headfirst, and sprawled with a moan upon the floor.
I raised an eyebrow as the detective stormed in after him, sporting a blackening eye and a scowl that was even blacker, and obviously considered aiming a very dirty kick at the unconscious thug. I was about to protest this, but the Doctor saved me from having to reason with a madman.
"Holmes, that's enough."
I would have sworn in court that when he saw us – or rather the Doctor – that his eyes suddenly glinted with tears of relief (were the very idea not so much absolute bunk).