The sound of feet running down the stairs brought Sally to her feet, her ear pressed to the door.
"Everyone out! The boss's dead!" A voice echoed down the stairwell.
"What about the prisoners?" A second voice asked
"Fuck 'em. Let's go."
"Oi! Let us out!" Sally hammered on the door, kicking and bashing it as hard as she could.
"What's happening?" Lestrade turned away from his contemplation of the high set window and moved to her side. "Whoa, careful, you'll hurt yourself. What's going on?"
"One of them just shouted that Barrymore's dead . They're running, and they're just gonna leave us here." Sally bit down on the edge of hysteria that caught at her voice, drawing on everything that made her a good Detective Sergeant. "There must be a way to get out of here."
Slipping an arm around her shoulders Greg pulled her into a warm embrace.
"There may be," he said, his lips moving lightly over her dark curls. "Haven't you felt the draught blowing through that glass up there? It's barely held in place."
"But neither of us…."
"We'll take a bit of a rest, then if you climb on my shoulders…."
Sally looked up, his lips were just inches from hers.
And she smiled at the unlikely pair they made, two officers, battered and bruised.