Bradstreet considered the child sleeping in his arms and thought about ignoring Gregson as the man invited himself in to lean against the office door frame.

"Thank you," he said instead, not quite meeting the other Inspector's gaze. He wasn't sure whether he would see pity or condescension in the blonde's eyes, but he was entirely certain he did not want to see either.

Gregson did not acknowledge the statement. "Mrs. Bradstreet asked me to let you know her father is stable and being sent home, but that he needs looking after, so she'll be staying with him for a few days."

Bradstreet did look up then. He recognized that particular tone; regardless of whether the door was open or who was standing in the hall, Gregson did not intend to be overheard. This message was for Bradstreet only, to share or not as he preferred. Their eyes met; he saw only understanding in the other man's. It did not shock him quite as much as it probably should have-at least a dozen similar instances suddenly came to mind in which someone at the Yard was struggling and Gregson stepped in to help in spite of his carefully cultured reputation as cool, uncaring professional.

"Thank you," he said again, more genuinely this time. Gregson waved it off.

"I'm certain Heather would insist she let her know if she needs anything." He told the other man, his gaze settling on Sophie briefly.

"I'll let her know." Bradstreet replied. "I'm sure Melissa will appreciate it."

Gregson nodded and turned to leave only to stop short and glower at the figure that had come up behind him. "Have a nice afternoon?" He asked, smirking, and Bradstreet immediately knew it had to be Lestrade out in the hall.

"You were gone, weren't you?" The retort floated past the larger man. Bradstreet snorted. Gregson shot another glance in Sophie's direction and left without trying to insult Lestrade any further. Bradstreet appreciated the decision, though he doubted at this point that the usual bickering between the two men that Gregson was so fond of provoking would wake his daughter; experience said she would sleep soundly through the next few hours at least.

"What can I do for you?" Bradstreet asked as Lestrade entered. "Probably not much at the moment, I'm afraid..." he trailed off, and the other Inspector looked uncomfortable.

"I forgot to mention it earlier, but I'm supposed to bring you home for dinner." He said, and Bradstreet eyed him skeptically.

"I was just over for dinner a few weeks ago." He pointed out carefully, and was rewarded when Lestrade barely managed not to look away. For the briefest of moments he wondered if Gregson had told Lestrade that Melissa would not be home, and if the two had somehow planned this. Shaking his head, he dismissed the idea as ridiculous. He did, however, wait to see what the man in front of him would say next.

"The children like you." Lestrade managed innocently enough. His eyes flickered toward the girl asleep on Bradstreet's chest. "I'm sure they'd love to meet Sophie. Olivia's about her age."

Bradstreet replied with a half-shrug, one shoulder supporting his daughter. "I wouldn't want to impose." He said, and wondered again if Gregson had said something to Lestrade.

"If you've already made plans..." Lestrade trailed off, and Bradstreet realized he was caught. If the implication that Lestrade's wife expected Bradstreet for dinner were, in fact, true, the woman expected him to be there, and for her husband to get him there. One did not defy Elisabeth Lestrade. If she expected him there, Bradstreet had better be there, unless he already had other plans.

Both Bradstreet and Lestrade knew that he did not, and while Bradstreet might be able to avoid the woman for a while, Lestrade could not. The man would have to go home and tell his wife that Bradstreet had declined to come to dinner with them, and when pressed, would have to admit that the man did not, in fact, have other plans.

Assuming that the man's wife had, in fact, made the invitation. Bradstreet suspected that this time it was, in fact, entirely Lestrade's doing, but he was also not willing to risk being wrong.

And if he was right, well, the man standing before him was not exactly what one would call outgoing. Such an invitation coming from him instead of his wife, whether it came simply because Lestrade knew that the other man would be on his own with his daughter tonight or for some other reason, was not something to be lightly set aside.

"I haven't, actually," Bradstreet conceded, "and I wasn't sure what to do with Melissa gone for the evening. Your wife, as ever, has incredible timing."

Lestrade looked the same sort of uncomfortable as he always did when he was not telling the entire truth. Bradstreet guessed that in his mind, at least, lying by omission was only slightly less dishonest that lying outright, but something he had learned over the years of necessity-his own dealings with one amateur detective came to mind. Sometimes it was painfully obvious that Holmes' methods were not entirely above reproach, and anyone who worked with him had quickly learned which questions not to ask, and when to turn a blind eye.

The reaction served as confirmation that the man had, in fact, invited Bradstreet over for dinner before of his own volition and simply let the man assume it was his wife's doing, and that he was doing exactly that here and now.