The basement had quieted, making it ideal. I had only waited a moment before my phone chimed in my pocket. A new text message.
He's not alone.
I puzzled over this new information. As ever, I had instructed that only the target be brought. My operative would never make such a mistake, nor blatantly disobey.
I had little time to consider, for footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then I saw. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade carried in each hand a wriggling, squirming bundle of striped and spotted fur. He strode right to me and thrust one kitten into my hands.
"Here. If we're going to do the whole chat with the secret service thing, you're going to hold one."
Instantly, the moment lost all sense of dignity. I instructed Lestrade to steer Sherlock away from a particular line of investigation, but my words were punctuated by mews and pauses as I tried to prevent the squirming feline from climbing me. Little claws dug into my shoulder, and I winced.
"Don't let her down," Greg Lestrade interjected, and I seized the kitten's tail to stop her descending across my back. "Or else you're helping me catch her."
The energetic little creature cried as though my grip did her an injury. I held tightly and concluded my admonishments with necessary haste. The Detective Inspector eyed me with undisguised amusement when his tiny beast turned and sank her teeth into my finger. I bit back a yelp of pain.
"Right. Is that everything?" He didn't actually wait for a response. "I'll do what I can with your brother, but you do know him. Here." Reaching forward, Greg Lestrade seized the ferocious little cat by the scruff and lifted her off of me. "You'll be wanting a lint roller." Kittens in hand, he walked away.