Author's Note: Last chapter, but don't worry, I have a new story, Close Call, that has been impatiently waiting its turn for publication. I also have, in case anyone is interested, a sort of timeline for the Sherlock Holmes stories I have written on my profile, since they haven't been written or published in chronological order. Anyway, not much to this, just a bit of fun, enjoy.

One Week Later

Holmes sighed and fidgeted impatiently. Gregson groaned. I resigned myself to checking my watch to make sure the time was right.

Inspector Lestrade was never late.

"Finally!" Gregson burst out. "Lestrade, get over here!" The man in question looked up, and altered his speed ever so slightly.

"Where the devil have you been?" Holmes demanded impatiently. "You're almost an hour late!"

"Sorry." Lestrade replied. I wasn't convinced he was. He didn't look immesely regretful.

"Sorry?" Gregson demanded. "Sorry? You're never late. You aren't half an hour late, you aren't five minutes late, you aren't thirty seconds late. What happened?"

Lestrade suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I was delayed." Seeing the alarm on both Holmes and the other Inspectors' faces, he quickly amended his statement. "Distracted."

"Distracted." Gregson repeated. "By what?" Lestrade didn't answer, but the other Inspector was determined not to let it go. "By what?" He demanded, a threatening note in his tone.

Lestrade flushed. "By my wife." He bit out the reply.

"By your-?" Lestrade turned even redder as Gregson caught on and looked completely mortified. Holmes shifted uncomfortably, coughed, and looked up.

"Have we wasted enough time?" He demanded.

Lestrade was all business, and Gregson was struggling to recover. Both nodded. "Sorry for keeping you, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade said, and Gregson lost his composure all over again.

Holmes paid him no notice, but quickly dove into a rapid fire explanation of what we had been doing and why he needed the Yard's assistance.

Lestrade considered. "You'll want to call in Hopkins or Bradstreet for this one, Mr. Holmes. I can't help you."

"And just why not?" Holmes demanded.

Lestrade threatened to blush again. "You're talking about a stakeout that will probably take the rest of the evening to set up and will last through most of the night. I have a curfew. Wife wants me in no later than nine, and I'm not about to argue with her."

Holmes frowned. Then he darted off after one of the Inspectors in question. Bradstreet eyed his fellow Inspectors warily, no doubt trying to surmise why Gregson's face was scarlet and what Lestrade had done to make it that color.

Lestrade nodded briskly. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have work to do." He turned and headed for his office.

Bradstreet stared after him, then looked back at Gregson. When he looked to me, it was a plea for help. "What-?"

"Don't ask." I told him firmly.

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes does not belong to me.