A little bit of everything Multi Fandom Imagines Book Three

The wrong one - Sherlock - Part 1 - Moriarty x Reader

(Y/n) groaned. Her eyes slowly opening to be greeted by nothing but darkness. The closeness and the heat coming from her breath, suggesting that the dark was caused by a hood that had been placed over her head.

The last thing that she could remember, was that she had got home from a very long day at work and had poured herself a wine, before dropping into her large chair. The rain against the windows mixed with the music that was softly coming through the speakers washing away the stresses of the day. Of having to deal with her brother. With Donovan and Anderson, and the Holmes boys. (Y/n) closing her eyes and letting herself drift away. The next thing that she could recall, was that there had been a knock at her door. (Y/n) sighing, as she had reluctantly dragged herself from her comfortable seat. Her brows furrowing, as she looked through the peephole to see a man with a large bunch of flowers. (Y/n) shaking her head, as she slowly opened the door. Knowing that the poor guy must have got the wrong address. And the next thing........well, the next thing was this. Slowly she tried to move, only to find that her wrists and ankles were bound to the chair in which she sat. The bindings at her wrists felling like handcuffs.

She had no idea why someone would want to take her. In the greater scheme of things, she was a no one. She wasn't from an important family. She had no really money. She was just a copper. So, unless this was a huge case of mistaken identity, she couldn't think why someone would kidnap her. But whoever it was that had taken her, was going to find that they had picked on the wrong one.

Suddenly, she heard a noise. A rattle of keys in a lock. The opening of a door that could do with a little oil on the hinges. And the sound of one.........no, make that two pairs of boots entering the room. (Y/n) taking a deep breath and doing her best to settle her nerves, as the footfalls got closer. Scrunching up her eyes, as the hood was pulled from her head. The bright white of the room almost blinding.

"You will have to excuse my men, Miss Lestrade. I hope that they didn't hurt you." A sing song voice said. (Y/n) hearing another pair of feet make their way into the room. This time they weren't boots though. This time they were shoes. And if her nose was right, they were made of the finest leather.

"I won't excuse them, no. And its Detective Lestrade. I worked long and hard for that rank, so I would appreciate it, if you would use it. And finally, if they have hurt me, they are going to regret it." The younger Lestrade retorted. The eyes of the detective slowly adjusting to the light. Now able to make out a slender man with black hair and a grey suit that stood before her. (Y/n) doing her best to not show any emotions, as she was finally able to recognise the man.

"They told me that you were an interesting woman, Detective Lestrade. That you were very different to your older brother. And may I say, far more beautiful than I had been informed." James said softly, as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table from her.

"What can I say. The apple fell a long way from the tree when they made me. To be honest, the only thing that Greg and I really have in common, is that we were both idiotic enough to join the force. Oh, and if you think that telling me that I'm beautiful will get you anywhere, I can assure you that it won't. It'll take at least dinner and drinks before you could even think about getting anything out of me." (Y/n) chuckled. Doing her best to lean back in the chair and look as comfortable with the situation as possible. Doing her best to conceal the fact that she didn't like the way that the consulting criminal was smiling at her.

"Now, why am I here, Mister Moriarty.............."

"You know who I am.................?"

"Of course, I know who you are. Where do you think that I've been living? Under a rock? Just because you and I haven't had dealings before, doesn't mean I don't read reports. Newspapers. You are James Moriarty. Born in 1976. The world's only consulting criminal. Oh, and you are a sadistic and psychopathic individual, who displays traits of extreme intelligence, grandiosity, an incapacity for remorse, arrogance, and in my own personal opinion, an unhealthy degree of self-confidence. To be brutally honest, you and Sherlock aren't all that different. In fact, if I didn't know better, I would say you were more of a Holmes than either Sherlock or Mycroft. Except they aren't sadistic. They just don't give a shit. Now, less about you, and more about me. Why am I here........?" (Y/n) interrupted. The detective allowing the sash to come through in her voice. Sash that her brother had always warned her about. The sarcasm that Greg had always told her could get her in trouble. But what the hell. She had already been kidnapped by this guy's goons. She was still bound to this chair. And given that, she believed that a little sarcasm couldn't make things much worse. Although, as she watched Moriarty pull a gun out from his inside pocket, she had to think that perhaps her big brother might have had a point.

"You think of yourself as an intelligent woman, don't you Detective Lestrade?" James asked, as he placed the small handgun on the table in front of him.

"No, Mister Moriarty. I don't think that I am an intelligent woman, I know that I am an intelligent woman. There is a difference." (Y/n) retorted, her eyes focused on the consulting criminal's dark orbs.

"Then perhaps you could use that dizzying intellect to let me know why you think I might have had you brought here?" James replied, as his fingers brushed lightly over the gun.

"It doesn't take much of an intellect to figure that out, now that I know that all this has something to do with you. I just wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth. But if you insist....................it obviously has something to do with Sherlock. But what you think taking me will achieve. How you think that any of this could, or would affect Sherlock, is the one thing I don't get." The detective told him. A lump forming in her throat, as Moriarty leant across the table. His eyes now appearing to be completely black.

"Really? You don't? Hmmmmmmm? Well let me explain.............."