Lestrade lay motionless for a few moments, thankful for the rest. Despite the thick comforter he was still cold and fought to suppress the shuddering. In addition, memories and impressions from last night starting swirling around his mind. The more his body came to rest, the more persistent the sensations became. He could almost smell and taste the coppery smell of blood again. Desperately swallowing against thick saliva Lestrade sat up. Groaning he disposed himself of the blanket. He hoped that staying upright would help with the terrible sickness he felt.

A strong and sure hand gripped his shoulder. Lestrade rather felt than saw Watson sitting down next to him. "Lestrade, I need you to concentrate on my voice. Try to breath with me. In on the count of three. One… two… three. Steady now- hold your breath for a moment. And out. And in. And out..." With practised ease the doctor guided the inspector trough the breathing exercise.

Slowly the nausea ebbed away. Lestrade ran a shaking hand through his hair to find it damp with sweat. It had been ages since he had had a reaction that strong to the horrors of his work. Suddenly he felt sheepish and ridiculous – he was a grown man hardened against the brutal reality of a policeman's work. He wished he had never shown up here. When he said as much, the doctor´s hand connected with the back of his head lightning fast and not to gently. "Balderdash, you are always welcome here. I patched you up a couple of times before – this time is truly not any different."

The doctor rose and handed Lestrade a cup of ginger tea. "I know you don't feel like it. But you should try and drink some tea. Part of why you feel so wretched is due to the fact you are dehydrated."

The Inspector eyed the teacup with deep suspicion. The mere thought of drinking the smallest amount of anything made his gorge rise again. He vehemently shook his head. "It will only come up straight away."

It was exactly this moment Sherlock Holmes re-entered the sitting room. In what seemed one movement the amateur flopped himself unceremoniously in his armchair to have his long legs hanging over one armrest. He waved a languid hand at Lestrade. "You will lose this argument. Better start on that tea – before he starts spoon feeding you. He has done it to me before. I assure you it was beyond humiliating." The doctor gave an exaggerated huff and a good natured bickering ensued between the two of them.

Lestrade held the teacup between his hands, savouring its warmth. Listening to the exchange between the two friends dragged his thoughts away from last night's gruesome events. Tentatively he started sipping on the tea to find it did help his stomach to settle. Lestrade grew tired and closed his eyes. He did not want to sleep for he feared the dead children would haunt his dreams. But perhaps it was safe to just rest his eyes for moment, only for a few seconds. He felt the teacup taken from his limp hands. He forced his eyes open and his body upright – he would not fall asleep and embarrass himself by waking up screaming with a nightmare. Holmes was standing above him, the teacup still in his hands. Their gazes locked. A moment of silent understanding seemed to pass between them. It was broken when Mrs Hudson entered the room.

Lestrade had half expected her to begin serving the breakfast table. But to his surprise she spoke in crisp tones. "Mr. Homes, breakfast will be ready in one hour. I have a bath running for the inspector. Doctor, I laid out some of your clothes for the inspector. His will have to go the laundry. And than he has to rest."

To his surprise Holmes merely nodded and murmured something about setting up the guest bed whereas the doctor smiled affably. "Of course, Mrs Hudson. Thank you very much."

She turned to Lestrade. "And you, young man, get yourself in the bath room. Enjoy the bath. You will feel more like yourself in no time. Just leave your clothes there. I will take care of them." Lestrade found his body obeying before his mind had time to register what was happening.

After he had seen to his needs Lestrade eased himself in the tub and closed his eyes. For the first time since this sinister business had begun he felt no longer cold. The hot water seemed to literally wash away the dirt as well as the emotional pain. The strong scent of the soap overrode the remembered smell from drying blood which had plagued him every single time he had closed his eyes. And without it the intense pictures his subconsciousness would then replayed failed to appear. Later he could not tell how long he stayed in this save haven. At some point he dozed off. When he awoke the water had cooled considerably, prompting him to get out the tub and to face reality once more. The clothes which Mrs Hudson had laid out for him turned out to be pyjamas and a well worn and rather comfortable dressing gown. Resigning to the fact that the resolute landlady would most likely order him to bed like a small schoolboy Giles Lestrade put them on.

Upon entering the sitting room he found Mrs. Hudson preparing the breakfast table, Holmes standing at the window his violin at the ready and Watson in one the armchairs by the fire engrossed in today's paper. As soon as the doctor noticed Lestrade he neatly folded the newspaper. Stuffing it away he rose to meet Lestrade half way through the room. "Excellent. You certainly look better. Feel you up to eating a wee bit or do you want to go to sleep right away?"

Lestrade considered the question and found that the thought of eating did not repeal him as much as beforehand. The three of them took their breakfast in silence. This suited Lestrade just fine. Although he felt more in control over his emotions the happenings of the night still hung heavily on his mind. He doubted that he could have pursued any other topic of conversation. From experience he knew that he would need to discuss the events in order to stash the feelings safely away. But certainly not over breakfast and likely not before he had rested. Sighing he rubbed his forehead. He did need to sleep and with wearing the doctors pyjamas and his own clothes in the laundry he would not be going anywhere. But with the sleep the nightmares would set in inevitably.

Lestrade was not worried about Watson. He had patched up Lestrade more than a few times. Besides in the three years Holmes had been gone, the doctor and the official had formed a friendship on their own and had seen each other through all kind of lows. And perhaps John Watson had been right: this time might not be much different from the dressing of other wounds.

But what about Sherlock Holmes? Today Lestrade had revealed much more vulnerability and had been granted much more kindness from Holmes than he ever had thought possible in both respects. He could feel the detective contemplating him and looked up.

Holmes also had abandoned his food. He seemed to weigh his next words thoroughly. "You must try to sleep, Lestrade." His mouth curved up in half a smile. "Now get over there, before Mrs Hudson gets the chance to shove you." He pointed over to the settee which has been turned into a makeshift bed.

"My goodness, this woman is a force to be reckoned with." Lestrade remarked while he stumble over to the couch. Holmes was right as usual: Lestrade was dead on his feet so to speak. Sleeping was the only sensible option right now as his body's needs outweighed any other concerns.

"You have no idea", came the dry reply. "I would lay odds on her every day of the week." Lestrade chuckled quietly despite himself and pulled back the blankets. As tried to settle him into a comfortable position, Holmes left the breakfast table Lestrade. He wandered by and pickup the violin from where it lay. Tucking it under his chin he tuned it absent-mindedly. His eyes came to rest upon Lestrade. The latter found it difficult to evade the intense gaze. "You will do well to remember that you are safe and among friends here." And that coming from Holmes counted for a lot. Lestrade nodded, closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.