Gregson stopped abruptly. Watson and Holmes also stopped, the latter with considerably less patience, turning to see what had caused the delay. The sudden shift drew the attention of both Bradstreet and Hopkins out in the hall.
"What is it?" Holmes asked sharply, but Gregson had gone deathly pale, frozen almost comically in the act of vacating his office chair. His eyes were wide, wider than either man had ever seen them.
"Are you all right?" Watson started forward, and fear flashed in the other man's eyes. His lips moved as if he intended to speak, but not a sound came out. "Gregson?"
His eyes closed briefly. "Please don't."
"Don't what?" Watson was beginning to worry now, but the man's response was far from enlightening.
"Just. Don't." He inhaled sharply, as if he had only just remembered that he needed to breathe in order to survive. Watson took a deep breath himself as he looked the Inspector over. Never, in the years since he had come to know Holmes and, by extension, the men at Scotland Yard, had he ever known Gregson to demonstrate much in the way of nervousness, let alone fear.
But the man was plainly terrified, that much Watson could see, and not particularly concerned with who knew it. Barely holding himself together, afraid to do so much as to finish standing up, Gregson remained awkwardly in a half-stooped position that in any other instance would have made him look ridiculous.
Bradstreet approached, concerned, but remained outside of the other man's office. "Is there something we can do?" He asked, and while Gregson's eyes flickered briefly in his direction he received no answer.
Bradstreet turned to Hopkins. "Go find Lestrade." He sounded grim.
Hopkins dared a glance in Gregson's direction. "What's going on?" Bradstreet shook his head.
"I have no idea." He admitted. Hopkins excused himself without further conversation.
Watson watched him go, then turned back to Gregson. "Are you hurt?" He asked, hoping to get something-anything-from the man. He almost missed the response-Gregson shook his head as if afraid to move even that much. Watson hoped that Hopkins found Lestrade quickly, and that Lestrade knew what to do.
"Move."
Lestrade had arrived, and none to soon. He waved Hopkins off as he made his way down the hall; a jerk of his head dismissed Bradstreet as well. Both Inspectors scattered. He paused in the doorway and spared Gregson only a cursory glance before turning his attention toward Holmes and Watson. "Calmly and carefully come out of the office." He told them, his voice low and even in a way that reminded Watson of a hostage negotiation. "Easy does it. Gregson, don't move."
Gregson remained silent, unable to manage even the briefest of retorts, as the two men obeyed. Watson turned to study Lestrade as he did so. In stark contrast to the other Inspector, Lestrade was as calm and relaxed as Watson had ever seen him. Whatever had Gregson so worked up did not seem to have even remotely the same effect on Lestrade.
"Mr. Holmes, Doctor, if you would be so kind as to allow us some privacy." Lestrade's words were polite enough, but his eyes all but begged the two men to go, and to do so without asking questions. Reluctantly, Holmes agreed, Watson not far behind. All potential witnesses removed, Lestrade turned his attention back to Gregson.
"I'm coming in." He entered the office, crossing the room slowly, as if Gregson might bolt at any second. He maneuvered painstakingly around the desk and came to stand beside the other man. Looking the taller Inspector over, he asked, "Where is it?"
Swallowing nervously, Gregson almost managed a reply. His head jerked toward his sleeve, and he forgot to breathe as Lestrade closed the distance between the two of them and reached out. With a practiced motion, Lestrade flicked something dark off the other man's sleeve. It landed in the corner and Gregson bolted for the opposite side of the desk.
The spider was large, brown, and hairy. It started climbing the wall, trying to make its escape, and Lestrade simply stepped forward and picked it up by one of its legs. Crossing the room, he opened the window one-handedly and tossed the creature outside before closing it. He looked around the room briefly before returning to Gregson's desk and disappearing briefly underneath it. He also opened each drawer and rummaged around for a moment before rifling through the mass of papers on top. He finished by examining both the trash can and Gregson's chair.
"All clear." He reported, and Gregson slumped in relief. He all but collapsed into the chair behind his desk and buried his head in his hands.
Lestrade simply watched him.
It took several minutes for Gregson to recover enough to blush, his face reddening from behind still shaking hands. "Seven years, I still can't..." he trailed off briefly before swearing. Lestrade resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Of course you could, if someone's life depended on it," he said, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. He remained there, sitting in silence, while Gregson pulled himself together.
"Still have nightmares, you know." He admitted, looking over his desk as if searching for something specific. Lestrade did not comment, but Gregson did not really expect him to. They were both fully aware that the other Inspector too, had more than his share of nightmares.
Gregson found the papers he had been looking for before this entire disaster had started and settled down a bit more. Across the desk Lestrade was still. The smaller man rarely felt the need to speak simply to break the silence. It used to bother Gregson. Now, after so many years, he had come to appreciate it.
He went back to work, waiting for the last of the tension to fade and his breathing to finish evening out. He said nothing when Lestrade finally stood up and left, closing the door behind him.
