Bradstreet returned to the Yard in a fine mood. Very rarely was a case that open-and-shut, but this one had been almost too easy. It was the sort of case that Lestrade always fretted over and ended up double and triple-checking everything, and that Jones swore they would pay for later, but Bradstreet was simply content to have solved another case without getting stabbed, or shot, or otherwise injured or-truth be told-having to consult Holmes.

His mood settled slightly as Evans approached. Something in the man's eyes warned him that the Constable did not bring good news.

"Inspector," Bradstreet smiled at the reluctant greeting.

"You might as well get it over with, Constable." He said, and Evans winced.

"You're wife was here, Inspector." Evans told him. "Looking for you, but when you weren't here Inspector Gregson talked to her instead. She looked pretty upset."

Bradstreet's mouth went dry. "Where are they now?" He asked, his mind racing too quickly for him to clearly grasp all the terrible things it was deciding had happened.

"He escorted her to St. Bart's." Evans explained. "Sent a note to Dr. Watson but didn't say why."

Bradstreet nodded and steeled himself. "Was she alone? When she came?" If something had happened to Sophie...

"She had your daughter with her, Inspector." Evans said, and Bradstreet felt a surge of relief that was short lived. Sophie had been to St. Bart's only once before, but the experience had left the child with nightmares for weeks. If Melissa had taken her there, something terrible must had happened.

Bradstreet forced himself to focus on Evans again. The man was saying something about Lestrade. He shook his head.

"What was that, Evans?" He asked, and Evans looked distinctly uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he repeated himself.

"Inspector Gregson had Mrs. Bradstreet leave your daughter with Inspector Lestrade."

Evans looked as if he refused to believe his own mouth, but Bradstreet was only surprised that Sophie had gone with the man-there were very few people she did not hide from, and those she had known for years. She had probably seen Lestrade once before, and never went off with strangers.

At least she was unhurt. Bradstreet wondered if something had happened to Melissa, but it had been urgent surely she would have gone straight to the hospital.

Or perhaps not. She was fiercely protective of Sophie. It kind of surprised Bradstreet that she had left the girl with Lestrade, whether she had gone willingly or not.

He had to admit that he was not any better than Melissa when it came to protecting their daughter. Sophie was-different-he knew, and could reluctantly admit in his own mind. She needed protecting from the world.

He wondered that he didn't feel more worried about her being left with Lestrade, but had seen the man at home with his own children. No, Sophie was as safe with Lestrade as she would have been with her own father.

He was not entirely certain what Lestrade would do if she went into one of her moods, however. The Lestrade children were bright, lively things that had yet to let anything get them down for long. Bradstreet had seen them filter through moods so quickly it nearly gave him whiplash, but they never seemed to stay very upset for long.

Once she got started, Sophie could cry for hours if the mood took her, and nothing they had tried so far could get her to stop until she had cried herself to sleep.

He made his way somewhat less cheerfully to Lestrade's office. The door was open, and he cautiously peeked his head inside.

Sophie was latched on to the man's shirt as if her life depended on it. Quietly sobbing, she had worn herself almost completely out but had not quite fallen asleep yet. Bradstreet winced and guessed that it had not been a pleasant afternoon for Lestrade or any of the other Inspectors, if the open office door were any indication. For a brief moment, he was embarrassed, and it made him feel guilty.

Lestrade looked up from his paperwork almost lazily, trying not to disturb the child currently clinging to his suit jacket (and likely covering it in snot and tears). He murmured something Bradstreet could not make out, but his tone was soothing.

"And here's your da," The man said in an almost sing-song voice. "Bet he's missed you almost as much as you've missed him." He offered a rare, reassuring smile. "Bradstreet,"

Bradstreet hovered in the door way, not sure where to begin. "Evans said Melissa went to St. Bart's." He finally said.

Lestrade nodded almost imperceptibly. "Her father took ill." He said, and Bradstreet nearly sagged in relief.

His wife and daughter were both fine.

"Gregson took her?" He asked, and Lestrade nodded again. "He didn't want to watch Sophie instead?" He asked, for Lestrade's benefit. The man nearly snorted.

Bradstreet invited himself in. "I can take her now, if you want." He looked down at the child clutched almost protectively against Lestrade's chest. "Thank you." He hesitated, then added. "I know it couldn't have been an easy afternoon."

"She started crying almost as soon as Mrs. Bradstreet left." Lestrade looked thoughtful, and Bradstreet wondered if the man's own children had ever been afraid of anything.

"I am so sorry," he began, but Lestrade waved him off. Leaning forward, Bradstreet began the ordeal of disentangling his daughter from the other man. "I really appreciate this."

He shifted his daughter to rest against his shoulder and waited, but Lestrade didn't ask any questions. He didn't offer any opinion on Sophie's behavior, or any advice. He only smiled a small, soft smile at the child and turned his attention back to his papers.

Bradstreet did not know why he thought Lestrade would say something, but enough people had tried meddle-how well they meant-after spending just a few minutes around his daughter. He was defensive, yes, as he stood there and watched Lestrade, but he had every right to be given everything he and Melissa had gone through since it first began to be apparent that Sophie was not entirely like other children.

Lestrade looked up. "If you or Mrs. Bradstreet need anything..." he trailed off uncomfortably, but Bradstreet got the gist.

"Thank you," he said again.