Howard recognizes Wyatt even without seeing his face. Something about the form of that body is stamped into his mind, about the dignity with which Wyatt holds himself. That stands true even when Wyatt's ill.

It doesn't mean he can't tell immediately that something's wrong. He breaks away from Sherlock and runs over to Wyatt in a staggering, off-kilter jerk, coming to rest on his knees in front of the man. His eyes are wide; his breath hitches. He scrambles up to his feet again and helps hold Wyatt up, trying his best not to sway himself, all though of his own injury forgotten.

"Where you hurt, Wy?" His words are a tight, panicked hiss. "I been studying how to medic from a book, where you hurt?"

He turns to look at Sherlock, bracing himself against the gingerbread to keep from tipping over. "We need John."