Ok. She'd done it again. (Y/n) dropping herself down into the chair. Internally shouting at herself for not listening to her brother and learning when the keep her mouth shut. It was one thing teasing a functioning sociopath like Sherlock. In fact, she loved doing that. But continuing to goad a homicidal psychopath like Moriarty, was a completely different matter. The female detective quite aware that pushing someone that had no qualms about killing, was not the best of ideas. But she couldn't help herself. She had no intention of letting the consulting criminal think that she was scared of him. (Y/n) had never been scared of anyone, man or woman, and she wasn't about to start now. Even if the man that was holding her just happened to be one of the most dangerous in the country. But perhaps the old proverb of 'discretion is the better part of valour' was something that was quite fitting for her present situation. Something that she should take to heart.

What she had told Moriarty was not true of course. Well........not really. She liked Sherlock. More than liked him. For despite his sometimes difficult character, (Y/n) found the consulting detective quite the most handsome of men. And strangely sweet in his own way, when he let his guard down a little. One of the times that he had done just that, resulting in her finding herself in his arms. His lips on hers. (Y/n)'s fingers burying themselves into his hair, as they deepened the kiss. Sherlock whispering into her ear. Telling her how intriguing he found her. How fascinating. How beautiful. How she made him think, as his lips brushed over the flesh of her neck. (Y/n)'s knees turning to jelly, as his hands had moved over her body. His slightly naïve fumbling making her smile, as he pulled at her clothes. The younger Lestrade wondering if he would have done more, if the untimely arrival of the doctor back at the flat hadn't stopped the consulting detective.

They had never spoken about it since, of course. (Y/n) never believing that Sherlock had regretted the moment that they had shared. More that he wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject. Not sure how to ask for more. Or that was at least what she had always hoped. But it was difficult to tell with Sherlock. (Y/n) always finding herself feeling a little sorry for the consulting detective and his older brother. Wondering why anyone would raise their children to think that things like love, emotions, sentiment and caring, were bad. That opening your heart to another was the worst thing in the world. She on the other hand had always been the opposite, and so had Greg. The pair always protective of those that they loved. (Y/n) always believing that her brother was a wonderful father. That he was the best big brother that she could ever have asked for. And given that, that bitch of a wife of his had never deserved him. Greg mentioning returning to her, the only thing that the two siblings had ever really had words about. The younger Lestrade getting a sense of vindication when Sherlock had informed Greg that his wife was having an affair with a PE teacher.

With a heavy sigh, she got back to her feet and made her way over to the window. Her eyes looking out over the vast metropolis below. Most of her hoped that Moriarty hadn't meant what he had said. That it was just another way to try and get into her head. That it was all bravado on his part. After all, she had just called him a jealous, spoilt, petulant child, that was prone to throwing the rattle from his pram if someone had something he didn't. She had more or less told him that she knew Sherlock in a way that no one else did. But another part of her knew that he had meant every word. That he had every desire to do with her, all the things that she had really hoped that she and Sherlock could have done that evening. That he had every intention of somehow seducing her. And the smallest part of her quite liked the idea. Quite liked the kiss. For really, he wasn't a hideous looking man. Plus, she did find him quite fascinating. The female detective wondering whether there was much more to James Moriarty than just the psychopath that the Holmes boys, Greg and John knew. That maybe underneath all that homicidal craziness, was a man that had been hurt in some way. That had been mistreated or abused. But from what she had been told about him killing the schoolboy Carl Powers, when he was young, (Y/n) had to think that with Moriarty it was more nature than nurture. That he had just been born bad. And that she may just have got herself in more trouble than she was already.

"Greg........I know no matter what I hope, you will probably have already dragged Sherlock and poor John into all this mess. That Mycroft might not be far behind. So, just be careful, ok? All of you. For no matter how annoying Sherlock and Mycroft might be, I don't know what I'd do without them." (Y/n) told her brother through the ether. Hoping that somehow Greg might get the message. That no matter what he might find at her home, he would know that she was ok, and she would do her best to get herself out of this.

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

John hadn't even hung up the call from Greg, before Sherlock had been making his way out of the flat and down the stairs. The door to 221b being thrown open, as the consulting detective had scanned the street for a black cab. Sherlock only needing to see John's shocked face to know that something was wrong. And that that something wrong, had to do with (Y/n).

John had never asked (Y/n) or Sherlock about what he had seen that night, as he made his way into the flat. Never asked if there was something between the two. Yet given the current look on his friend's face, it was apparent that the consulting detective actually felt something for the younger Lestrade. That perhaps he had finally given into sentiment. Sherlock seeming to hover anxiously over his seat all the way to (Y/n)'s home. The younger Holmes jumping from the cab before it had even stopped, and racing into the home. His eyes growing wide, as he saw the Detective Inspectors ashen face. The breath almost leaving his lungs, as he took in the bloody scene before him.