"Cells are full." Hopkins grunted with a shiver as detective, doctor, and Inspector blew into Scotland Yard. "You know it's bad when nobody protests."

"They may be starting to catch on." Lestrade murmured as if to himself. "Our man fell into the river." He said more loudly. He did not sound immensely upset by either the accident that had resulted in their quarry falling through the ice or the fact that there had been no way of saving him.

Hopkins deemed it wiser not to ask for clarification and turned to Doctor Watson. "Could I bother you to look at Bradstreet's wrist? He slipped on the ice, and it seems to be hurting him."

Tired and cold as he was, Watson nodded. "Certainly, Hopkins." He said, following the young Inspector to Bradstreet's office.

Jones, working miserably in a corner of the room, ignored the two as they entered the office. Bradstreet looked up and sighed, but it was more in amusement that irritation. He submitted himself to Watson's care without protest.

"Hopkins said you slipped." Watson prodded as he began examining the offered wrist.

A rueful smile crossed Bradstreet's face. "Didn't see the ice until after I'd landed on it." He confessed. "I threw a hand out to catch myself and did."

"Reminds me of this boy I once treated." Watson recalled. "Poor lad fell out of a tree. He threw his arms out, tried to land like a cat would. Broke both arms."

Bradstreet winced in sympathy as Watson continued. "You, however, have gotten off with a minor sprain. If you let it rest and let me wrap it up it should be as good as new in a couple of days."

Bradstreet tried to look affronted and failed miserably at it. "I don't argue with the doctor, remember?" He teased Watson.

The doctor chuckled. "You may be the only Inspector here who doesn't give me a hard time." He agreed. "Hopkins isn't too bad either, actually." He mused. "Lestrade, on the other hand-"

"Gregson wants his coat back." The Inspector in question informed Bradstreet as he paused outside the office's open door. "I would knock if I my hands weren't full." He added.

Inspector Lestrade was standing in the doorway with a steaming cup of something hot in each hand.
"The door is open." Bradstreet reminded him. "You can just come on in." Lestrade did so, and held out a cup in Watson's direction.

It was a second or two before the doctor realized that Lestrade was offering him the steaming beverage, but when he did he accepted it gratefully.

Lestrade offered the other cup to Jones before making his escape with Gregson's coat folded over his arm.

Watson blinked and turned to Bradstreet. "Did Lestrade jut bring me a drink?" He asked.

Watson's question elicited a burst of laughter from the Inspector. Jones rolled his eyes as Watson's confusion increased. "Lestrade likes you." He said bluntly.

"Pardon?" Watson was sure he had heard wrong, but Bradstreet only laughed harder. "He brought you a drink too." He felt obligated to point out.

Jones muttered something under his breath and went back to his work. Bradstreet managed to collect himself enough to reply. "Jones is a nightmare when he's sick." Jones paused in his work long enough to gesture rudely at Bradstreet, which nearly set him off again.

"It only makes sense to do anything that will make Jones a little less miserable and consequently a little less unpleasant." Bradstreet explained with a smirk. He received a look from Jones, but the miserable Inspector did not actually deny Bradstreet's assertions.

"He took Gregson his coat." Watson tried again.

Jones snorted rudely. "That is a different matter entirely." He declared before going back to his work once more.

"True enough," Bradstreet agreed, "and not something easily explained. But there's no doubt about it, Watson. Lestrade likes you."

Watson had no reply for that.