Author's note: To all who celebrate it, Happy Thanksgiving! To all who do not, enjoy the extra updates anyway!
I don't understand this game." Archie complained, running a hand through bright red hair. His partner, a somber looking dark haired fellow with a nose crooked from where it had been broken in his youth and piercing blue eyes, groaned.
"How many times have we explained this to you?" Bartholomew asked his partner.
"Every time we get together." The other two seated at the table chorused. The two blondes chuckled.
"So are we done pretending to play cards, then?" Tobias asked. "Or do we want to pretend we actually like the game for a bit longer?"
"I'm done." The other blonde, Tommy replied. He was the same age as his companions, though he still looked substantially younger. "I'm not sure why we still do this, though."
"I thought it was to give the wives something to complain about." Archie offered. "Want to see a magic trick?"
"Again?" Bartholomew complained. Tommy snorted.
"No, it's a new one." Archie assured him. Bartholomew grunted his permission and Archie gathered the cards. "Pick a card, any card." He told Tobias, who grinned and obligingly leaned forward to select a card.
He froze as he heard the knock at the door.
Archie's eyebrows went up as Tobias Gregson stifled a curse. He knew that knock.
"Excuse me for just a minute." He said to his friends as he rose from the table. Archie shrugged and turned his attention to Tommy instead.
Tobias left Tommy to select a card and made his way to the front door.
"Sorry t' bother you on your night off." Lestrade slurred ever so slightly, and Gregson went through the checklist.
Drunk-defintely not. The last time he had seen Lestrade drunk enough to actually lean on a wall for support was-never.
Ill-probably not. Lestrade had been in good health the last time Gregson had seen him, which was yesterday. He would have taken ill so quickly.
Injured-he was holding some sort of rag like apparation to the back of his head. Someone had hit him, then, and it was likely bleeding.
"You sure you wouldn't rather just act as if nothing had hapened instead of actually admitting you were hurt?" Gregson asked as he moved back to let Lestrade inside.
"I can't tell how bad I'm bleeding ," the other grumbled, "but I know it's not good if I'm already dizzy."
"Don't collapse." Gregson warned Lestrade as he swayed on his feet. "I don't want blood on the carpet. Come on."
The second time Lestrade staggered Gregson took him by the arm to lead him through the sitting room. He received a dirty look for his trouble, but he also caught the injured Inspector before he fell when he stumbled.
"Sit." Gregson settled Lestrade in what had been his seat and went for a clean cloth and some water. "Head forward, Lestrade. You know the drill."
Lestrade was apparently not too disoriented to notice the three suddenly silent men at the table. "Am I interrupting something?" He asked.
"Yes." Gregson told him as he returned with a bowl of water and a clean cloth. "You did save me from one of Archie's card tricks, however, so I suppose I should be grateful. Take that-whatever that is off your head. It's filthy."
"It was there." Lestrade mumbled as Gregson bent forward to examine the rather nasty gash in the back of the man's head.
"What happened?" Gregson asked, scowling at the wound as he dipped his clean cloth in the bowl and wrung the excess water out. He pressed it against the back of Lestrade's head without warning him first.
"Ow." Lestrade muttered without much energy. "I think it was a candlestick." He offered uncertainly.
"Hard to tell when they hit you from behind." Gregson commented. "The bleeding seems to be slowing down." He added, ignoring the three men who were watching the scene before them in apparent fascination. He was not entirely certain why his friends still seemed to think his job was so interesting.
"You could probably stand to see a doctor." Gregson suggested without much hope. Watson was off somewhere with Holmes on a case, and he was about the only doctor Lestrade would consider seeing anymore as long as he was even remotely concious.
"I'll be fine." Lestrade said predictably, trying to sit up. Gregson let him, and allowed himself a smirk as Lestrade subsequently paled and let out a low moan.
"I'll believe that if you can make it to the door without falling over or tripping over anything." Gregson informed the other man tolerantly, though by now he had realized that it was very likely Lestrade was going to end up spending the night on his couch, albeit grudgingly.
Lestrade scowled at him in response. Gregson merely smiled back and offered him a cup of tea.
He reflected, as he set water to boil, on the fact that he probably would not have given up a relaxing evening with his friends for anyone else at the Yard, at least not without serious complaint.
He reconciled this with the fact that he still did not like the man with the knowledge that Lestrade would have done the same for him and anyone else he worked with, Inspector and Constable alike.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.
