From the way they treated him, you'd have thought the man he'd attacked was a Yarder. The police had ways of handling different kinds of criminals. Those who attacked the police were treated worse than scum. That he understood -- the force took care of their own. But he hadn't attacked a peeler – just a nosy doctor who was asking too many questions.
He sulked in his cell as the days went by, shreds of news drifting to his ears as they circled the Yard.
"Barely alive when they found him."
"Never saw worse what weren't dead, Bradstreet says."
"The surgeons thought he'd die on the table."
"Pulled through, thank God, but still touch and go."
"Hasn't woken up yet, I heard."
"Got the heart of a lion, that one. That's why he's hung on long as he has."
"Nah, he's too stubborn to quit this world."
"Well, whatever the reason he'll be all right, just you wait."
Inspector Bradstreet sneered at the prisoner. "Just thought you should know the man you attacked is alive and more than willing to testify against you. Our hangmen do a better job of killing a man than you."
"Blood hell!" the prisoner exploded. "What's so special about him? He's just a doctor, not one of yours!"
"Dr. Watson is one of ours," growled Bradstreet.