"Lestrade's busy." Hopkins said shortly. "Excuse me."
Holmes and Watson watched him go. So did Bradstreet from the wall he was leaning against. He grinned lazily at the two startled visitors.
"Don't mind him, he won't be his normal sunny self until the heat's back on." Bradstreet offered, and Watson belatedly realized that the man in front of them currently wore a rather thick coat.
"They still haven't fixed that?" Watson was shocked. "It's been what, three weeks now?"
Bradstreet shrugged. "Gregson and Lestrade told Jones he wasn't allowed to fix it this time." He explained. "That was a week and a half ago, the day after that snowstorm hit." Watson winced sympathetically.
Holmes returned to the reason for their visit. "Where is Lestrade?" He asked again, and Bradstreet was almost successful in fighting back a chuckle.
"Hopkins told you he was busy," he replied, "and he is. Did you need to see him specifically, or is there something I can do for you?"
"Is he here?" Holmes pressed, and this time Bradsreet did laugh.
"He's here." He assured the detective with a smile. "He's teaching Jones how to swear. The man is definitely not mechanically minded."
"They're fixing the furnace." Holmes realized. Bradstreet nodded.
"I don't know why Jones refuses to drag someone other than Lestrade along whenever he fixes the furnace, but he won't take anyone else with him. It's not a pretty sight, Holmes, and it's probably going to be a while."
Holmes sighed as Gregson came shuffling down the hall complaining that it was warmer outside Scotland Yard than inside. "They're still working on it." He guessed, his expression rather sour. Bradstreet nodded.
"So what changed everyone's mind?" He asked the older Inspector curiously. "I thought we were going to wait them out."
"Have you ever seen Lestrade bring a blanket to work?" Gregson asked, and Bradstreet's eyes widened.
"You're serious." He said a second later.
Gregson nodded and continued toward his office. "Lestrade keeps his fingers out of the way." He tossed back over his shoulder.
"Pardon?" Bradstreet replied, confused. Gregson stopped and doubled back.
"You said you didn't know why Jones always takes Lestrade. He does what Jones tells him, but he also keeps his fingers out of the way." Gregson held up his right hand as he spoke.
Watson and Bradstreet both stared as they realized that the very tip of the Inspector's smallest finger appeared to have been sliced off. Bradstreet looked up at Gregson, who shrugged and lowered his hand.
"Ripped the nail clean off." He offered. "Jones said I was lucky he didn't take the whole finger off." He paused for a moment, remembering, before shaking his head as if to clear it and continuing on his way.
Bradstreet looked a bit uneasy. "I hate it when he gets like that." He muttered. "It's always unsettling when he starts remniscing about the past." He too shook his head, then asked. "Can I help you with something, or are we going to have to disturb Lestrade and Jones?"