Author's note: And in the Halloween spirit, here's a bit more.


"You're bleeding." It seemed far too long before Doctor Watson was kneeling beside Jones, Hopkins half a step behind him.

"Never mind that." Jones told him brusquely. "That's not why I sent for you."

Watson knew; he was already examining Gregson. He took the man's pulse, listened to his breathing, and peeled back the man's eyelids to look into his eyes. It was only the work of a few minutes before the doctor came to his conclusion. "He's been drugged."

Behind him Jones heard Bradstreet and Hopkins both breathe a sigh of relief. The Inspector had seemed far too still, far too pale. Jones didn't point out that being drugged was not necessarily much better than whatever else they had feared, but turned his head to see why they were still here instead of dragging Gregson's would be murderer off to a cell.

Their eyes met his, and the two men turned their attention back to their duty while Watson muttered that Gregson should be fine, but he would like to take the Inspector back to Baker Street where he could keep an eye on him.

Jones nodded, and between the two of them they managed to carry the unconscious Inspector outside of the graveyard and to the street where apparently Hopkins had informed the cab he and Watson had brought here to wait, and had been threatening enough in the admonishment that the driver had actually stayed.

"I want to look at your arm." Watson said as he realized Jones had no intention of going to Baker Street with him.

"I have work to do here." Jones told him, and Watson frowned. Jones turned and headed back to help Constables deal with the aftermath of the interrupted sacrificial ritual.

"Come by when you're done." He heard Watson call.

He probably would. Jones didn't care for the man, hadn't since The Sign of Four had come out, but there was no denying that he was an excellent doctor. There was a reason he was referred to by some as Lestrade's physician of choice, a title all the more impressive when you knew that before Watson had come along Lestrade was more likely to ignore sustained injuries until he eventually collapsed from them than to go see a doctor.

Jones had no aversion to doctors, but he still agreed with Lestrade that Watson was one of the best. He also still did not care for the man.

He also still had work to do. The ritual had been stopped, and Gregson had been recovered, but the fact remained that Gregson had not gone out alone and Lestrade was still nowhere to be found.


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