Sherlock One shots and Imagines

The wrong one - Part 2 - Moriarty x Reader

"You see, I have been having you watched for some time.............."

"Well, that must have been an interesting assignment for whatever poor bastard you forced to do it. I assure you that I have an extremely boring life. There are hermits living in caves in the Outer Hebrides that have more of a social life than I do." (Y/n) scoffed. Wishing that one of the braindead goons behind her, would take to cuffs off, so that she could cross her arms across her chest. Just so that she could emphasis the point that she really wasn't in the mood for any of this.

"But that isn't true, is it...........detective? You spend a lot of hours in Sherlock's apartment............"

"So? Is that's the best you've got.................? The next thing that you will be telling me, is that I was seen making old Mycroft crack a smile! That I was observed with my brother's children! That John hailed a cab for me! Please.............I'm a detective working at New Scotland Yard. My big brother's go to girl when he doesn't want to deal with the great consulting detective. I'm the one he sends to see Sherlock when we need to discuss something. When he wants to ask for his help. And I spend so long at Baker Steet because half the time I get there, Sherlock is either plucking at the strings of that damn violin of his, just looking out of the window; or in his "mind palace". Most of the time the only one I get to talk to is the poor doctor, who just apologises and brings me cup after cup of tea because he doesn't know what else to do. I swear that when I pass away, my obituary will say that I died of a Darjeeling overdose, due to having to wait to speak to bloody Sherlock Holmes." (Y/n) scoffed. The detective hoping that she was as difficult for Moriarty to read, as Sherlock had found her.

What she was telling the criminal was true. She did go to Baker Street because her brother sent her. That she did spend so long in the flat because she had to wait for Sherlock to finish doing whatever he was doing. But in truth, things weren't as detached as she was making them out to be. She really liked Sherlock despite how distant he could be, and unlike with her poor brother, the consulting detective actually remembered her name and didn't treat her like an idiot. John was a delight to be around, and though things had been a little uncomfortable in the beginning; now, they would sit and talk. John would tell her about his time in the army, and she would tell him all her silly stories about Greg and her time in the police. But she couldn't let the consulting criminal know that. She couldn't let him think that her kidnapping would have any effect on the men. For she knew that despite how different she and Greg were, her big brother loved her as much as she loved him. That when she didn't turn up to the Yard, Greg would go to her place and find she wasn't home. That he would see her cell phone, wallet and keys on the kitchen counter and make a call to Mycroft. Go to see Sherlock and John. Bringing them all into this mess. And she didn't want that. She didn't want Moriarty to get what he wanted. So, all she had to hope was that she could make him believe that she was of no use to him. And despite his reputation, she could persuade the criminal let her go.

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James watched her. She was far more intriguing than he had imagined. And despite himself, he couldn't help but find that he was growing to like the younger Lestrade with every word that she spoke. The fire in her eyes and the venom in her voice, showing him that unlike everyone else, she wasn't scared of him. The notion giving the consulting criminal quite a thrill. A thrill that he had never felt before.

He knew that what she was saying wasn't the complete truth. That she had been seen in various situations with not only Sherlock, Doctor Watson and her brother, but also the Iceman himself. Yet he was finding it hard to read her. Hard to grasp what the beautiful detective actually was. James wondering if his nemesis had as much difficulty in deducing her, as he was having. So, until he could figure her out. Until he saw what the true response would be to him taking her, she would be staying with him.

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"So, you see, Mister Moriarty, you have the wrong one. Why don't you just cut me loose and we will say no more about it. I mean, I won't say anything if you don't. And you can go back to torturing Sherlock in any way that you see fit. Perhaps even find someone that might really mean something to Sherlock Holmes..............."

"Or, I could just kill you." James retorted, as he grabbed for the gun and placed the barrel to her forehead. A broad smile creeping across his thin lips, as the detective didn't even flinch.

"Go ahead. It won't change anything. It won't make your plan, whatever it is, work. Greg already has too much on his plate to even notice that I'm gone. Neither Sherlock nor Mycroft would bat an eyelid. They probably won't even remember who I am. The only one that might notice, is John. But only because he would have a surplus of tea. So, do it.............see if I give a damn. I'm not scared of you, Moriarty!" (Y/n) hissed disdainfully, as she pushed her forehead harder against the barrel of the gun.

"As you wish detective............" James hummed. His finger moving on the trigger. His already broad smile growing even broader, as one of the men behind the detective pulled a hypodermic from his pocket, uncapped it, and placed the needle into the flesh of the younger Lestrade's neck. Her eyes beginning to glaze over. Her body beginning to sway as the drug took effect. James slowly getting up from his chair and making his way to the other side of the table. The criminal leaning over and whispering in her ear.

"You aren't going anywhere, my dear (Y/n)."