Hours had passed; Holmes was still reading. Gregson and Hopkins had dozed off, and Lestrade was pacing. I felt almost on the verge of dropping off myself, but was watching the Inspector as he tried to wear a path in the carpet.

He was trying not to think. Trying not to worry. Trying not to let it get to him, or at least, not to show that it was getting to him. He needed to rest.

"Don't forget the chamomile." I recalled the note from his wife, and pulled myself out of the comfort of my armchair. Lestrade never even seemed to notice as I slipped out of the sitting room.

I found Mrs. Hudson tidying up the kitchen. "I thought I heard you coming down the stairs." She smiled as she greeted me. "Is that Mr. Holmes, or the young Lestrade?"

"He's not all that young." I replied, startled.

Another smile. "He's young enough yet." She informed me, then sighed. "He needs some rest. "He's pushing himself too hard."

"I know." I agreed. "He's worried about his wife."

"Of course he is." Our landlady replied. "Kidnapping is no joke, and it's even worse when the victims have been drugged and abused into submission." Seeing my surprise, she huffed. "I read the papers like anyone else." She informed me. "And Mr. Holmes is not the only person who can observe. Now, what was it you needed?"

I hesitated. "Do you know anything about chamomile?"

"Tea?" She asked. "It's supposed to be soothing. Why?"

"Inspector Lestrade does need to rest. He mentioned earlier that it helps him sleep."

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "I have chamomile tea. I could bring some up for those who are still awake." She offered. "Couldn't do you any harm, and Mr. Holmes won't touch it anyway."

"I can take it up." I offered. The woman nodded, and was soon busy filling a teapot with water.

Lestrade was still pacing when I returned with the tea, but he stopped almost as soon as I entered. He watched as I set the tray down and prepared myself a cup.

I settled back into my armchair. "Have a cup, Inspector. And a seat. Holmes isn't using it tonight."

He hesitated, but poured himself a cup, and after an uncertain glance towards Holmes, who was sprawled on the floor reading, set himself into Holmes' armchair.

He didn't drink immediately, but took a deep breath of the tea. That alone seemed to relax him considerably. He took a tentative sip, and sighed.

"It's not your fault." I said at last, hoping he wouldn't take offence.

Lestrade started, and nearly dropped his cup. "Pardon?" He whispered.

"I said it wasn't your fault."

His shoulder's slumped; he was tired of fighting, tired of trying to pretend nothing was wrong. "Indirectly, it was. I just happened to be there when he tried to take off with the young woman. I didn't realize who I was looking at and he escaped. He recognized me, I suppose, and retaliated by going after my wife." He scowled. "And if I had known I wouldn't have done a single thing differently." He took another drink. "Gone home sooner, I guess. But by the time everything was sorted out with the woman he tried to take he would have already gotten to Lizzie."

He glared at nothing in particular. "She'd prefer it were her instead of someone else. Long as the kids were safe."

I simply listened, knowing he needed to talk and knowing that if I spoke he would realize what he was doing and clam up.

After a moment he spoke again. "And the kids are safe, at least. That woman may think I'm the scum of the earth, but she won't hesitate to step in if I need to get the family out of the city." He must have truly been exhausted, because he was starting to ramble. "I'll be hearing about it for the next twenty years, of course, and when she finds out I didn't tell her about Lizzie-" He shuddered, and fell silent again.

He finished his tea, and set the cup aside with all the deliberation of a man trying extra hard not to drop or knock something over in the process of putting it down. He was completely exhausted, and was finally allowing himself to give in to it.

It wasn't much longer until his head dropped, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The Inspector had finally dozed off.

I allowed myself to drift off to sleep with that small amount of satisfaction.


Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes does not belong to me.