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A deep sense of dread crept up in his heart, as Watson watched the inspector fidge with his hat, something he only did when extremly nervous about something. At hearing the other man talk about a threat to both himself and Holmes, this dread evolved into sheer panic. What could have probably had happened to upset Lestrade so? he wondered, steeling himself for the next words.
Still, nothing could have prepared him for the news that came then. Moran? Colonel Moran, Moriarty's right hand was free again? And probably out for Holmes' blood. And mine, Watson thought, trying to shake the overbearing sense of foreboding from his mine.
"How could that happen, Lestrade?" he asked the Yarder, his voice shaking slightly. "Didn't Holmes warn you to keep in securely locked away?" Watson could remember like it was yesterday, the day when they caught Moran and how he had cursed Holmes, promising revenge. And now he was free to do that. Jumping to his feet, Watson started to pace agiatedly in front of the fireplace. They had to warn Holmes. The man had no idea and that that madman was running around London again.