Sherlock One shots and Imagines

The wrong one - Part 14 - Moriarty x Sherlock x John x Greg x Reader

Sleep had not been her friend. The female detective having spent the night looking out of the window, watching as the lights of the city slowly vanished, to be replaced by the glow of the new day peaking over the old and new buildings of the capital. It was strange, what was going on in her head. Some of her thoughts were about Greg, about Sherlock, wondering when they would pull their fingers out, and come and find her. About what was taking the supposed genius consulting detective, so damn long. And then there were the other thoughts, thoughts about what had transpired between her and Moriarty when he had come into her room. (Y/n) wondering if he found it exhausting, going from full on psycho mode, to........well, to being quite sweet in a way. How he had agreed with her joke that she was the complete package, before gently kissing her on the cheek, a complete contrast to the man that had gripped her around the throat and told her that he would punish her for refusing him. The notion of being punished by a man like the consulting criminal, at once terrifying; but then, exhilarating. The younger Lestrade once more finding herself imagining what such a thing might entail. Sure, that James Moriarty could come up with a multitude of interesting ways to make her behave. A small, wicked smile coming to her lips, as a vision of being punished by both Moriarty and Sherlock, suddenly flashed before her eyes.

"Good morning......." A voice suddenly came, interrupting her carnal thoughts. (Y/n) pulling the sheet, that she had taken from the bed and had kept around her, as she continued to sit in the chair all night, up over her shoulders, as James came into the room with a bag on his arm and a tray in his hands.

He looked different from what he had done before. Gone was the smart grey Westwood, and the smug look; to be replaced by a simple pair of trousers, a t-shirt and a soft smile. (Y/n) sure that if she didn't know better, she would think that he was just a normal guy. But perhaps that was what he wanted; perhaps this was his new tack in trying to get whatever it was he wanted, out of her. It obvious that the crazed, suit wearing, criminal persona hadn't worked on her; hadn't scared her.

"Good morning..........." (Y/n) replied, as she watched him place the tray on the table in front of her, before holding out the bag for her to take.

"I thought you might want these. Your own clothes must be dirty, so........." Moriarty explained, as she opened the bag and saw some more new clothes; though this time it was no revealing underwear and form fitting gown that left little to the imagination. No, this time, it was something that she would wear every evening when she got home after a long day. Something comfortable, something normal.

"Thank you..............."

"You are quite welcome. And I thought that perhaps we could have breakfast together..........." James continued, as he gestured to the tray. A grumble coming from her stomach, as she saw the plate of eggs benedict, the glass of orange and she smelt the freshly brewed coffee.

"Well, as someone has gone to all this trouble, who am I to say no. But perhaps I should get dressed first. Bed sheets are only really for the evenings. I wouldn't want to commit some social faux pas, by wearing it for breakfast too........." (Y/n) found herself joking, as she got to her feet. James simply nodding, as he took a seat at the table, and watched her disappear into the bathroom.

                                                         >>-----------------------------------<<

Greg and John lay asleep, slumped in chairs, as Sherlock looked out of the window onto Baker Street; the light of the new day, just starting to chase away the darkness of night. He hadn't slept, but he didn't need sleep; he needed to find (Y/n). To find her and bring her home, not for her brother's sake, but for his. Sherlock finding himself shaken by the thought. There was something about the younger Lestrade, something that had grown on him. Something that had creeped up on him while he wasn't looking and made him care about her. Made him more than care about her. His thoughts going back to the evening that he had kissed her. When he had pulled in his arms. Her fingers burying themselves into his hair, as they had deepened the kiss. Sherlock whispering into her ear, telling her how intriguing he found her. How fascinating. How beautiful. How much she made him think, as his lips brushed over the flesh of her neck. Sherlock having to admit, that if John hadn't come home early, he had wanted to take it further; so much further. And given that Moriarty had taken the younger Lestrade, it seemed obvious that somehow his nemesis knew that he cared for (Y/n). That he cared enough to play this new little game of his. Sherlock determining that he wasn't going to lose.

"We need to go back to (Y/n)'s house!" Sherlock suddenly announced, shocking both Greg and John from their sleep. Greg nearly slipping from the chair, as he sat bolt upright; neither he, nor the doctor having heard the consulting detective move from his seat.

"What..........?" John asked, taking the words out of Greg's mouth.

"Moriarty wants me to find Miss Lestrade. I believe that he had more clues left at her home. So, if we are to find her, then that is where we need to be." Sherlock replied, before striding over to the hat stand, grabbing his coat and throwing open the door of the flat before disappearing. Greg and John looking at one another, before quickly following after him.