Author's note: I'm back! Finals are over for the semester! And yes, I missed you guys.
Lestrade stepped out of his office and let out a muffled yelp as something cold and hard hit him square in the face as he left his office. Caught off guard and temporarily blinded, he stumbled back. In the next second he shook off what he now recognized as melting snow and began searching for his assailant.
It was Hopkins who had thrown the snowball. The younger Inspector did not try to run as Lestrade identified him as the source of the snowball. It would only have made things worse in the long run. He did not try to explain. The fact that he had been aiming for Bradstreet was irrelevant.
Hopkins swallowed nervously, guessed that his color was likely a shade or two paler than its normal color, and began casting about in his mind for an appropriate prayer, but also stood his ground as Lestrade advanced upon him.
Behind Lestrade Bradstreet too had gone rather pale, and was seriously entertaining the idea of making a break for it and leaving Hopkins to face the older Inspector alone. He could not, however, in good conscience abandon the lad, so he stayed where he was.
Anyone who had spent very much time at Scotland Yard quickly learned, either through direct personal experience or observation, that it was not wise to struggle if Lestrade collared you. As an Inspector, Hopkins had seen enough to be acutely aware of this fact, and consequently did nothing more than shoot a silent plea for help in Bradstreet's direction wide and terrified eyes as the older Inspector dragged the younger down the hall.
Bradstreet neither felt guilty enough nor was foolish enough to attempt to intervene on Hopkins' behalf, though he was still reluctant enough to leave Hopkins to Lestrade that he followed the two down the hall and outside, where he watched in horrified fascination as Lestrade threw Hopkins headfirst into a snowdrift.
Hopkins remained where he was, reluctant to risk further aggravating Lestrade when he was apparently in enough of a mood to react so physically and absurdly to what was essentially and accident. A muffled oath did escape him, however. It was cold.
A window flew open, and Gregson leaned out the window. "Quit playing around!" He bellowed, and for some reason Bradstreet got the feeling he was shouting primarily at Lestrade. "I need you in here now, and you could at least put your coats on if you're going to carry on like a bunch of school children; you're going to make yourselves sick!" He finished irritably before disappearing back inside and slamming the window closed.
Lestrade smirked at the now closed window before turning to help Hopkins out of the snowdrift. He offered the lad a wink and shot one last glance in the direction of Gregson's office window before almost chuckling and heading back inside.
He left behind two alarmed and confused Inspectors.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.
