Davie is my Irregular. Everyone's got to have one, after all...
Written: 3-6-13
Irregular
Holmes jumped, liquid spattering from the dropper he had been holding in midair (only containing water, thank goodness) as the door banged open loudly down below. He stood hurriedly and went to hold the door to the sitting room as Watson came through, carrying a disheveled and battered young urchin from their own Baker Street Irregulars. Watson placed the boy on the couch and ordered Holmes, "Get my medical bag, hurry." Holmes disappeared up the stairs as Watson reached for the boy's wrist to take his pulse.
Minutes later saw their charge bandaged and stirring weakly as he regained consciousness. "Easy, Davie," Watson said firmly, shoving the boy back into an inert position as he attempted to sit up. "You're not half well yet."
Davie's eyes wandered blearily over to Holmes, then suddenly widened. "Mister Holmes! I was s'posed to bring a message to you..."
"It can wait," Holmes replied firmly, for once completely uncaring as to a case's immediate continuance in light of the boy lying in obvious disrepair on their couch. He turned to Watson. "What happened?"
"I was looking into the docks affair as you requested," Watson replied absently, rummaging through his bag, "when I saw him attacked by a larger boy. I intervened."
Holmes wondered if Watson recognized the loyalty in Davie's eyes, astonishing in its blatancy.