"Nice view." Lestrade commented as he joined Bradstreet in peering over the bridge. "You owe me. You forgot to pay for your drinks."

"Sorry." Bradstreet mumbled halfheartedly.

"They always said it was bad to drink alone." Lestrade continued speculatively. "Especially after a day like you've had. No one's there to keep you from doing something stupid."

Bradstreet didn't quite flinch. "You heard?"

Lestrade didn't quite smile. "Hopkins said you looked like a ghost when you came in. He was worried, I guess." The silence settled between them, for a moment. Then Lestrade stirred. "Cold night. I'd hate to end up going for a swim on a night like this."

"Hmmm." Bradstreet mumbled noncommittally.

"It's just part of the job." Lestrade said. "These things happen. At least we manage to do some good."

"Not enough." Bradstreet put in darkly. "We can run ourselves ragged, work ourselves to death, and it'll never be enough. We give our blood, and our lives, we sacrifice our time, and what good does it do? Does it really make any difference, when you leave your wife at home in bed in the middle of the night to chase after some murderer or thief?"

"You're drunk." Lestrade informed the other man. "You would never ask me that sober. We do what we can, Bradstreet. And that's all we can do. You know that."

The other man's shoulders slumped. "I know. I know. But it's never enough."

"Sometimes it is." Lestrade said after a moment. "When we stop someone from killing again, or recovering someone's purse means they get to eat that week. We are doing some good, Bradstreet. We can't make the world perfect, but we can make it better."

"Yeah, sure." Bradstreet muttered. Then he sighed. "What brings you out here, anyway?"

"Looking for you. I'm supposed to be dragging you home for dinner, but with all that happened today, I forgot until the last minute."

Bradstreet almost smiled. "And here I thought I'd been forgotten, or spared."

Lestrade shook his head. "My wife doesn't forget people. She's just been biding her time."

"Should that worry me?" Bradstreet wanted to know as they left the lonely bridge and made their way to Lestrade's home in the dark.


Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.