Chapter 1

"Lestrade, good, you're here," said Sherlock breathlessly.

"Well, this is my apartment Sherlock. It's two in the morning. Honestly, why couldn't you just call me tomorrow? Or at least one knock like a normal person." he replied. If he wasn't so used to Sherlock breaking into his flat at all hours of the night he would have been terrified to see the thin figure approaching his doorway. Instead, he just sighed resignedly and changed his tactic. "Fine. What is it that couldn't wait till a decent hour?"

"That is rather subjective, Lestrade. I don't believe that logically, any hour is more decent than another. Perhaps if you factor in the..."

"Uggghhh," Lestrade groaned loudly, pulling the covers over his head. "Just tell me what you want from me, Holmes, so I can go to sleep. I have to work tomorrow, you know."

"Fine, Lestrade. I have the perpetrator detained in my bedroom, and I would like you to come and arrest him."

Realization hit Lestrade. The suspect: expert at breaking and entering, forced the victims to write suicide notes before hanging them, then took a picture of the crime scene and put inside the mail box for the letter carrier to find. "So you went out and got the suspect, was he at the shop you suspected? Why didn't you just wait until morning when I could go with you and make the arrest as planned?" he asked, annoyed once he realized this could have been avoided.

Sherlock flipped on the light and stepped closer to the DI's bed. Lestrade sat up, blinked as his eyes adjusted and gasped. "Actually, I caught the man red handed. Turns out he holds a gun to the victim's heads while they write the note and makes them hang themselves after they write it."

Sherlock's face was bruised and Lestrade could tell that her nose had been bleeding. "Are you alright, Sherlock?" he asked with some concern. He knew that the tall thin woman was not to be underestimated, but she also had been on this case for three days and had most likely not slept or eaten during that time.

"It was simple." she continued, ignoring the question about her welfare. Why would Lestrade want to hear about such a trivial thing when she had SOLVED it? "He entered through my open window and I let him nearly complete the crime, to collect data of course. He held the gun to my head and made me tie my own noose, also. He threatened to "kill my mother" which means he must have also been spying on me and seen me talking to Mrs. Hudson. Anyway, this must have been how he forced the others to do it. Threatening families and whatnot. then he led me into my bathroom and made me tie the rope with the noose onto the shower curtain. This was foolish, any idiot could see that my shower curtain is hollow and therefore would not bear my weight. Then he made me write my suicide letter, which I took my time on to distract him. He didn't feel particularly threatened by me, since I am a woman, so after awhile he stopped watching and I took this opportunity to jump him. He got a couple of good punches in before knocked him unconscious and bound him with the rope from my noose. I have calculated that he will wake up in about twenty three minutes so we really should be leaving soon to arrest him."

Lestrade, awoken by her story stood and motioned for her to leave the room so he could change. In a minute he was out and he grabbed his handcuffs, gun and keys and headed out the door, Sherlock at his heels. "So where is your cab, Sherlock?" he asked when they had gotten to the sidewalk.

"Oh, I didn't take one." She answered.

"Really Sherlock? At two in the morning, injured, after not eating or sleeping for three days, you walk the three and a half miles to my flat through these dodgy neighborhoods?" he asked, full lecture mode coming on as he led her towards the police cruiser. "I have seen so many terrible things happen to people like you. I know that you are above average in strength and self defense skills, but if you were jumped by a group of people, or if you were distracted, you could have really been hurt!"

Sherlock looked at him indignantly as they climbed in the car. "Really, Greg, you should be lecturing me for luring a murderer into my flat and letting him almost succeed rather than about being a woman out at night, and other things I cannot help."

Lestrade sputtered at this. Then realization hit him. "The window. All the other suspects left their windows open, despite the unseasonably cold weather."

"Correct, Lestrade, we may make an inspector out of you yet."

"But how did you know he would come to Baker street?" Greg asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"It was obvious from the locations of the bodies, all on the second floor in a corner apartment on a street starting with B."

Lestrade climbed out of the car and let Sherlock out of the back.

"I don't see why I always have to ride there," she pouted. "It's not like anyone would ever see me riding up front at this hour."

"You know the rules. Besides, Donovan and Anderson would see you. I called them in as back up while I was changing. See, bringing back up is what you do when you are trying to catch a murderer."

Sherlock only smirked, got out of the car and led Lestrade and tired looking Donovan and Anderson up the stairs to her flat. "I see you two arrived together. Only one reason why that would be, seeing as you live at opposite ends of town. Your wife must be lonely tonight, Anderson." She remarked casually, while searching in her purse for the key. He only sputtered in response until Lestrade hushed him, since it was too late for these childish games.

Sherlock opened the door and Lestrade went in ahead of her with his gun pointed in front of him. "Relax, Greg, I told you he was in my bedroom."

Indeed he was, and his face looked worse than Sherlock's. Lestrade couldn't help but be impressed as he cuffed the criminal and read him his rights, then handed him off to Donovan and Anderson. "There. If you two can't stand being apart, why don't you take this guy to the station?"

The detestable duo groaned, but Sherlock noticed with satisfaction that they did not challenge their superior officer and left.

"You know the drill, Sherlock, I have to take pictures of the crime scene, then I will leave you alone for the night."

"Do as you must. I hope you realize that my previous account of the events that occurred here are as official of a statement as you are going to get."

Lestrade just shook his head and went into Sherlock's bedroom to take the photos he needed. She sat down in the window and started playing the violin. Luckily, she was playing it nicely instead of the loud screeching noises she plays when a case goes unsolved for too long. He finished in the bedroom and headed into the bathroom, rather enjoying the music. He was disturbed to see a bloody towel in the sink which she had obviously used to clean her face before she came to fetch him. He worried about the woman because with all the brilliant thoughts running through her mind, she never seemed to be able to spare one for her own well-being.

When he was finished documenting the crime scene, he headed into back into the living room. "Do you mind if I have a cup of tea before I head back Sherlock?" He asked, knowing that she could probably use a cup for herself, but wouldn't bother making one.

"I doubt that I have any." she replied, eyes closed, still playing her violin. "It is illogical for you to go home, Lestrade. Just stay in my spare room upstairs. It is nearly four in the morning and you have to wake up in an hour and a half. With commuting and settling in that only leaves about 45 minutes if you were to go home."

"Thank you," he replied, surprised by her offer. He took a good look around, and noticed that the whole place was rather... spotless. "Sherlock... Is your apartment clean?" He asked, mouth gaping open.

"Brilliant deduction, inspector." She scoffed. "If you must know, Mrs. Hudson's threatened to evict me if I don't find a flatmate soon. Mycroft has decided that he won't supply me with the extra money to pacify her, so I suppose it is my only option."

Lestrade held in a laugh at imagining the mad woman with a flatmate. "Well," he chuckled, "best of luck with that Sherlock." and headed up to her spare room. He collapsed on the bed with a groan and fell asleep to her beautiful classical music within moments.