A. N. This is not a gift, as it's not worth to be one. It's just a silly drabble, that casually happens to come out on KnightFury's birthday (Happy Birthday, my dear!). That it is his prompt – it was too inspirational to leave it alone – is merely a coincidence, I swear. I do hope you all (and the issuer abve everyone else, of course!) will enjoy it!
Job hazard
Holmes wasn't going to get involved in the bitter rivalry between Gregson and Lestrade anymore. If he took a case, he would ensure before accepting that only one Detective Inspector was undertaking the task. It was hard enough dealing with one of them.
But this case had been interesting and something he believed Scotland Yard would never manage by themselves. A huge criminal organisation, implicated in all kinds of illegal traffics, not excluded kidnapping people to be enslaved in foreign lands. Lestrade had come to him, and the sleuth had accepted immediately.
Naturally, he'd tried to infiltrate the lower ranks, to acquire more data – and succeeded at it, too. of course, Gregson – wanting to outshine his colleague, and taking part in the investigation as it was too big and complex a matter for any lone Inspector to handle by himself – had gained some info of his own, and hence quickly organised a roundup. Nevermind that it would only get him some random thugs and instead alarm and possibly persuade to flee the bosses.
Holmes had been rounded up with the others, and not said a word – it'd ruin his cover. He still hoped the investigation might somehow be salvaged. Spending a night in a crowded cell wasn't even the worst experience he'd come through in his life, not by far.
But the consulting detective couldn't help the – invisible to anyone else, or misinterpreted, hopefully – shiver of fear in his soul. He was disguised, of course – but one single man's recognition was all that would be needed for him not to leave this cell alive. He wouldn't be able to fight everyone off. So the detective kept to himself, silent, huddled in a corner like a wounded, wary animal. After all, he only had to keep his cover for the night. Tomorrow he would somehow manage to send a message and get himself bailed out of here. He'd let Watson know to send Wiggins, whose appearance would be less likely to blow his cover story. The morning couldn't come too soon.