Inspector Lestrade gawped in amazement as the prisoner he was collecting practically sprang at him, shaking like a palsied man.
"Get me out of 'ere!" he wailed, hiding behind the astonished Yarder as a pale figure stepped from the bedroom. "'E's a madman!"
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Holmes, what'd you do to the fellow?"
"Nothing," the detective said flatly, his voice more chilled steel than was typical. "Merely said I would take it as a personal favour if he would attempt to flee, so I could shoot him for trying to escape."
Lestrade noticed the detective was clutching an army-issue revolver as if his very life depended upon it …the call had merely said there'd been a shooting…oh, good Lord…
"'E said 'e was gonna kill me," his cringing prisoner whimpered. "Said if the bloke I shot didn't live then the Doctor wouldn't be the only one to not see another day!"
Lestrade faced the stony consultant. "I wondered why we were told to come here, not the house where it happened," he said sternly.
Holmes blinked impassively and turned to re-enter his bedroom.
"Would you really have killed him?"
Holmes glanced down at the Doctor's revolver he still clutched. "Perhaps I was not referring to him," he answered hollowly, and shut the door of his bedroom.