Author's note: And in the Halloween spirit, here's a bit more.
Jones had been admittedly relieved when Gregson woke up. He had not been relieved when Gregson's first action upon awakening was to sit up, demand to know where Lestrade was, and then try to stand and nearly end up flat on his face in the sitting room floor of 221b Baker Street.
He had been quickly reassured to learn that Gregson knew what his captors had done with Lestrade. He had not been reassured to find out what.
He called back to Doctor Watson that he didn't care if the man was done stitching him up or not as he left the abode of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson and headed back towards the graveyard to retrieve the missing Inspector.
Lestrade looked up from his seat in the corner of the crypt, blinking in the light. "I don't believe in ghosts," he informed Jones irritably, "so if you are one, kindly go away."
"Aren't you and Gregson always lecturing on being more careful?" Jones retorted, offering the other Inspector, who looked rather worn and rumpled, not to mention dirty, a hand. Lestrade hesitated a split second before accepting it. "Long night?" He added as Lestrade distractedly brushed himself off, his eyes still far wider than Jones had ever seen them.
"You spend a night locked in a grave with nothing but that ridiculous cat-" here Lestrade gestured behind him, "for company, and see how you like it."
Jones frowned. "What cat, Lestrade?" He asked. The other Inspector shot him an irritated glance.
"That one right-right there." Perplexed, Lestrade stared at the empty air behind him. "It's gone." He said hesitantly. "It was right there a minute ago."
"And you just spent the night locked in a crypt." Jones pointed out. "That's enough to affect anybody."
Still a bit befuddled, Lestrade nodded, though he knew there had been a cat in there with him. He didn't know where it had gone, but he knew he had not imagined pair of glowing yellow eyes, the feeling of a small, warm body against his legs or the purring of a small feline in the darkness.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.
