Author's note: I have finally updated the time-line on my profile, so my new stories should be on there too, if you want to take a look.


Six men sat in rather undignified positions on the floor in what might have been loosely defined as a circle. Had anyone from the Yard, or anyone who knew them at all been there, they would have been appalled at the way the men were sprawled out on the floor. None of those present, however, would have cared in the least.

"Sorry." It was Adams who apologized, though he couldn't quite master the energy required to actually sound remorseful. Lestrade managed to nod in reply, but nobody else gave any sign of acknowledging the apology.

Smith added a "thanks" several minutes later. He did not sound particularly grateful. He couldn't bring himself to care, either.

Mason, the Rookie, kept his mouth closed. He didn't have the energy to worry about the consequences of not only being taken hostage by the group that had recent been sending threatening messages to Scotland Yard and used for a bait for a trap for several Inspectors, but for dragging Inspector Lestrade's alleged favorite Constables (not that it showed, really) into it as well, never mind the fact that all six of them (Lestrade, Jones, Gregson, Adams, Smith, and Mason himself) had nearly been killed tonight.

A short distance away, slightly behind and to the left of Jones, one of their would-be assailants groaned and began to stir.

"That one's still alive." Gregson commented irritably.

Lestrade didn't bother to grumble that he didn't kill people if he could help it, whether he wanted to or not. He was supposed to be a good guy, after all.

"I'll take care of it." He said instead, and lurched to his feet. He stumbled wearily over to the body on the floor and kicked it. "Quiet." He growled. "You'll be still, if you know what's good for you." He wasn't that much of a good guy, at least, not tonight.

The man seemed to realize it was in his best interest to remain still, for he did just that. Satisfied, Lestrade turned and started painfully for the door.

"Someone should go down to the Yard and send someone to clean all this up." He decided wearily.

"I guess that's you." Gregson roused himself enough to reply. "Don't collapse in the street on your way there." He added.

It was certainly a possibility.

"I'll try not to." Lestrade's response was less than reassuring. "I'll try to send a doctor along as well. Who isn't injured?"

Tired as he was, Jones managed to snort at that. Nobody else could be bothered to comment.


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