"Yes," he murmurs, distracted, and he wishes desperately for time. He peers at Watson's arm, trying to be quick about memorizing the angle Watson was standing and the layout of the street from where they're standing. He could determine which window the culprit used when there's light, when there's time, and it kills him to think that he could find this person now.

No time for that, however, and he braces an arm around Watson's waist, holding him close as he brings him to his feet and starts them for the door, which is thankfully not too far away, especially if they hurry.

"The shot came from the empty house across the street," he says, shooting a look over at it, wishing he could see its contents.