When the hunt turned into a stakeout Hopkins did not know whether laugh or cry. Truthfully, all he wanted right now was for this miserable assignment to be over. Of course, the return of the Inspector Lestrade he had thought he had known would be nice too.

Lestrade had been acting more and more like this Inspector West as every minute went by. It was frightening to see Lestrade slowly transform from his usual, dangerous enough self to what Hopkins personally thought of as a walking, breathing killing machine.

West was certainly one of these. There was no doubt about it. West was deadly, and would kill without hesitation and with remorse.

Hopkins did not like the man, but he disliked the fact that Lestrade seemed to be modeling his behavior even more.

He was content to huddle in the corner with Jones and Bradstreet, both of whom were equally alarmed by the day's progression of events, while Lestrade and West settled down by the only window in the room.

He was slightly surprised, given the close proximity Gregson had kept to Lestrade since this whole wretched affair had begun, when the other Inspector chose to join their trio rather than take a spot beside the man he had stuck to all day. It was odd to see the usually confident Inspector tailing Lestrade as if afraid to let him out of his sight-whether for Lestrade's protection or Gregson's it was difficult to tell. It only added to the unpleasantness and worries of the day.

Hopkins quickly realized, however, as Gregson sat down with a soft sigh, that he did not care for Inspector West any more than Hopkins did.

"What is it with those two?" Jones asked Gregson, his voice so low it was barely audible to the three men sitting with him. He would not be overheard by the two at the window.

Gregson hesitated, and Hopkins realized something. Gregson was afraid of West, enough so that it actually showed. Gregson was not someone who often let people see how he really felt about much of anything.

"He's not an Inspector." Gregson finally said. "Never was, though he's been introduced as one on more than one occasion. He was at the Yard when I started, when they were trying to clean it up, and after the bulk of it was taken care of he just disappeared. He always acted as if he weren't simply upholding the law. He acted as if he were the law. Beyond that-" here Gregson shrugged, "I know nothing of the man."

"And Lestrade?" Jones was not worried about saying Lestrade's name. The man knew them; he knew what they were discussing. If he heard his name, he would ignore it.

"They worked together a lot." Gregson offered. "Lestrade worked better with him than anyone else. They are, after all, very much alike. Lestrade seemed to idolize the man for a while." He frowned and shook his head. "They still worked together a lot after that, but Lestrade was a little more careful of what he learned from him."

Jones did not ask what had happened. Gregson clearly did not want to talk about it. Instead he opted for a question that turned out to be only slightly less upsetting.

"Why are you following Lestrade around like a little lap dog?"

Gregson ran a hand through his hair. "Old habits die hard." He murmured, his gaze drifting to settle on Lestrade, who seemed to be deep in conversation with West. Gregson's expression was troubled as he tried to decide whether to answer or not. "He stabbed Lestrade." He finally said. "Ran the blade right through his shoulder and left him pinned against the wall and didn't think a thing about it." He turned back to look at Jones. "Said it was necessary. We wouldn't have caught the man we were after otherwise. Pointed out that he hadn't caused any lasting damage as if that actually made some sort of difference."

Jones was only partly convinced. He leaned closer to Gregson. "Are you protecting Lestrade, or is he protecting you?" He wanted to know.

"Both." Gregson's eyes flashed; he was mentally cursing Jones. "He doesn't like me, and doesn't trust me, and no, I don't care to go into why." He added, daring Jones to ask.

Jones did not ask. "Would Lestrade really shoot him for touching one of us?" He asked instead. Lestrade was not one to make idle threats, but then again, he also tended to let his fellow Inspectors deal with their own problems themselves.

Gregson scoffed. "If he said it, he meant it." He said grimly. "And West knows it, too."

"So you three are old friends, then." Jones muttered, liking the situation even less than he had previously.

Gregson did not reply. He was watching Lestrade again.


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