Prompt: Another Perspective. Give a minor character's point of view to something going wrong (a case with injuries, Reichenbach, an unfortunate encounter with a box of bananas, etc). This could be an Irregular, a servant, someone unnamed - whoever, just so long as it's a minor character.

"Eta Protocol!"

The cry echoed down the alley, and he stood to find Jamie sprinting towards him. Red-faced and out of breath, the much younger boy barely paused to give details.

"The doctor signaled an Eta from the window! Find Mr. Holmes!"

Jamie continued his run, probably on his way both to where Tim usually hunted and to check one of Mr. Holmes' most recent haunts. Jackson abandoned his own digging to go the other direction, however. Unlike Jamie, he knew where Mr. Holmes had probably gone today. The detective had mentioned meeting a contact north of Regent's.

Not that he should tell Jamie that. Not yet. Should his knowledge prove inaccurate, they still needed all available Irregulars searching.

Left, then right. Duck through a narrow alley. Effort pushed his worry away in favor of finding the help Doctor Watson needed, and some twenty minutes finally spotted the street Mr. Holmes had mentioned. He started looking for a café.

There! The dingy, shadowed building tried to hide behind a rather unsavory pawn shop, but Jackson merely nodded a greeting at the clerk on his way to the semi-hidden back room. Squaring his shoulders and glaring at nobody in particular ensured he remained unchallenged on his winding path through the tables. True to form, a familiar disguise sat in the far corner, his back to the wall and discussing something about a ship with the nondescript man in front of him. Mr. Holmes' eyes widened minutely on sight of Jackson.

But their surroundings prevented Jackson from speaking plainly. He stopped beside the table.

"Boss called a seven. Better hurry."

Worry tinged with fear—a fear Jackson himself fought to contain. Eta Protocols without details rarely meant anything good, but he could do nothing but bring help. Message delivered, Jackson took himself back to the street to wait out whatever pleasantries Mr. Holmes deemed necessary.

Which constituted barely more than a new time to finish their discussion, based on Mr. Holmes' rapid appearance. The low question conveyed far more concern than Mr. Holmes would ever put to words.

"What is wrong?"

"I don't know." He dodged around a laborer to lead Mr. Holmes into the next alley. "Jamie said he signaled the Eta from the window. I don't have any more information than you do."

He did have instincts, however, and something in the back of his mind chimed that this felt very, very wrong. He fell silent, keeping pace with Mr. Holmes' longer stride rather than end the Eta as he tried to identify what so unnerved him.

The feeling refused to either subside or define itself, however. They hurried in sight of the flat before he blurted the first thing to come to mind.

"Go quietly."

Mr. Holmes' gait changed, just slightly. He glanced a question at where Jackson ran beside him, then detoured away from the front door.

"What did you see?"

Jackson shook his head, a frown turning his mouth when he still could not put words to the warning making his palms sweat.

"Something's not right, but I can't figure out what. Be careful."

Mr. Holmes looked between Jackson and the flat, but he nodded. A gesture ordered Jackson out of sight as Mr. Holmes approached the back door. The corner of the drapery had moved to let him glimpse the kitchen, and whatever he saw sparked a much more obvious concern. Fingers curled behind his back in another silent signal.

Get the Yard.

Jackson shot away, the fatigue of his run vanishing beneath this confirmation. Whatever had made Doctor Watson start an Eta, it now placed him and perhaps Mrs. Hudson in danger.

And Mr. Holmes' most recent case tracked a murderer. Jackson dodged through the press to the closest beat, where a spark of relief found a familiar face.

"Sergeant Drexel!"

The young Yarder spun on his heel, then met Jackson halfway. His bouncing jog matched Jackson's pace back toward the flat.

"The doctor—sent for Mr. Holmes—who sent for you." Deep inhales fought against far too much running. "Think—intruder, but—not sure."

"Slow down and catch your breath, son." A hand on his shoulder signaled a well done, then Sergeant Drexel increased his speed to leave Jackson behind. Even moving as fast as he could still rounded the final corner to find the back door standing wide open. Shouting carried from the kitchen, then a resounding gunshot broke the glass. A loud thump heralded a sudden silence.

A sudden and completely terrifying silence. Jackson forced himself to stay hidden despite creeping closer to the opening. What would he find inside?

Quiet speech, thank Heaven. A familiar figure knelt behind a chair, stubbornly ignoring a bleeding gash on his shoulder to untie the series of ropes holding Doctor Watson in place. Sergeant Drexel disappeared toward the front of the flat after freeing Mrs. Hudson, and a fifth figure had been trussed up and left in a corner. Jackson silently skirted the room on his way toward the hearth. Making himself useful would keep him around long enough to confirm the adults alright, and while he might not be able to take down a grown-up blackguard, he could make a pot of tea. Frequent glances checked for injury as he cleaned the kettle, filled it, and set it to heat.

Mrs. Hudson appeared fine, if more than a little stressed—not that Jackson could blame her. Being held captive in her own home would stress anyone out. She would calm down eventually.

The doctor, however, looked ready to pulverize the ruffian in the corner no matter how much his own injuries protested. Various scrapes and bruises suggested a brawl, and the knot on the side of his head announced just how the intruder had managed to tie him to that chair. Another moment made Jackson take the wide route around the grown-ups to retrieve the doctor's bag.

"—fine, Holmes," Doctor Watson grumbled as Jackson returned to the kitchen. "Check on Mrs. Hudson. He got her first."

"And faster," she retorted. "I am uninjured, Doctor, thanks to you, and you might have a concussion. Stop being so stubborn." She looked up when the bag landed within reach. "Thank you, Jackson. When did you get here?"

"Came with Mr. Holmes," he answered shortly, attention still on where the doctor worked his shoulder. "Then with Sergeant Drexel. Why'd you send us for Mr. Holmes instead of the Yard, Doctor?"

"Didn't—have proof of a true problem." His shoulder twitched to make him flinch. "He claimed to be one of Holmes' contacts, but he stumbled over the disguise name. I—" He frowned, then gentle fingers inspected his upper back. A low grunt made Mr. Holmes edge closer. "Either Holmes was away when he had a meeting, or the man was a fraud."

And either scenario would improve with Mr. Holmes' presence, Jackson finished silently. Sergeant Drexel and the two constables he had called while Jackson was upstairs finally carried the intruder out the front door, but Mrs. Hudson suddenly blanched and disappeared into the other room. A shot of sympathy recognized post-fight nerves. Jackson had always hated the hours after a fight more than the fight itself.

And Doctor Watson had not yet tried to stand. When stubborn denial pretended to still be inspecting the marks left by the ropes, Jackson snorted amusement and retrieved the cane from the entry. Some days, Doctor Watson really could be too obstinate for his own good.

Especially when he preferred to stumble across level floor rather than admit the fight and the ropes had aggravated his leg. Jackson merely shook his head and went to check on Mrs. Hudson. At least she would speak up if something were truly wrong.

Almost to the end! Hope you've been enjoying reading these stories as much as I have writing them :) And thank you to MHC1987 for taking the time to drop your thoughts. Reviews are always greatly appreciated