Scotland Yard was a madhouse when we arrived. People were shouting, running back and forth, and generally panicking. I'd never before seen Scotland Yard in such a state.
Lestrade tried vainly to get the attention of passing Constables. After a few unsuccessful attempts, and nearly getting trampled in the confusion, he gave up and returned to my side. Then he took a deep breath.
"Will somebody tell me what the devil is going on here?" He bellowed, loudly enough to effectively silence, and still, the entire room. I was impressed, I had heard that Lestrade was capable of stopping a Constable in his tracks, but had never seen such a demonstration.
Then he winced, and swayed slightly, as if shouting had taken his last bit of strength.
Hopkins suddenly appeared beside him, and the room's occupants slowly went back to whatever they had been doing.
"Good, you're here." Hopkins said, too flustered to even notice that Lestrade's arm was still bound to his side, or that he looked ready to fall over at any given second. He did notice me. "And you, Doctor. We could certainly use your help."
"What's going on?" Lestrade demanded impatiently, and not for the first time since our arrival.
"The Superintendent's been shot." Hopkins declared. "Someone walked right into his office and shot him." Lestrade looked stricken. All the color had washed out of his face.
"Is he alive?" He managed to ask, after swallowing a few times. Hopkins nodded.
"Dr. Mills is with him. They aren't sure how bad it is yet." He continued as we headed for the Superintendent's office.
"The shooter?" Lestrade's tone was clipped.
"We've got him." Hopkins said wearily. "But he's not talking. Jones was questioning him; didn't get a thing. Not one bloody word."
We reached the office, and I soon found myself abandoning Lestrade to do what I could to help the doctor who was already with the Superintendent.
"Doctor Watson!" Dr. Mills almost sounded pleased to see me, in spite of our last meeting. "Give me a hand, will you?" I knelt beside the other doctor and got my first glimpse at the Superintendent.
It was bad; the Superintendent was lucky to still be alive. The bullet had missed his heart. It was entirely possible, however, that he might die anyway, in spite of everything Dr. Mills and I would do.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.