A/N: This might be three or four chapters long. It's based on a spoiler I saw for the next series, won't tell you what it is in case you haven't seen it. Some bad language (mostly from Scotland Yard Detectives). Spoilers for The Great Game, but if you haven't seen it yet you need to see it soon.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or the BBC, or even Mark Gatiss. All I own is this storyline and my laptop that I used to write this story on.
Four hours Lestrade thought to himself. Four hours with Moriarty. "Bloody hell" Lestrade said, running a hand through his greying hair.
The day had already been tense from the beginning when a body was found washed up upon the Thames. This Moriarty, who had possibly captured Sherlock and John, was behind the madness which had caused half of New Scotland Yard to go into total meltdown. Already he had murdered two dozen people, what was going to stop him from killing more? Well there was one person but no one wanted to admit that they did need Sherlock. If he isn't dead already. No don't think that Lestrade, of course he's alive. He has to be alive. They had seen what he had done for fun (blowing up people), they had seen what he had done to people who he didn't like (if Carl Powers was anything to go by). So the one question which was on his mind was what did he do to people he got angry with? He honestly did not want to find out.
The Detective was snapped back to reality when his radio crackled into life. Lestrade could just about make out the voice of Dimmock above the shouting of pedestrians and sirens of ambulances and police cars. "Anything new happened in the pool. We've just got a call from a Mr Mycroft Holmes..." At the mention of Sherlock's brother Lestrade gave a groan as if to say 'Oh God not him'. There was a pause on the other end of the line before Dimmock replied "Oh, so I presume you've met Sherlock's brother then. That bastard. He kept asking me whether we had any information on a man named Jim Moriarty, who's a Professor working as a I.T tech in St Barts." Just as Dimmock had finished the sentence Lestrade received a text which he knew who it was from before opening it.
Text message received: 01:32
Any information on Moriarty or my brother would be helpful. Especially since I could get your whole department fired with a click of my fingers, threatening is not my style yet you have forced me to do it.
MH
Lestrade was in the middle of forming a sarcastic reply to the elder Holmes; which involved the words bastard, diet and hell, when something (or rather someone) unexpected was seen. Out of the shaddows hobbled a pale, short, sandy-haired man. Lestrade's conscience screamed only one thing. Oh my God it's John Watson.
Mwha ha ha. Leaving it on a cliff-hanger. Just call me Steven Moffat. Reviews would be helpful, this is my first fic so apologies for any bad grammar or a rubbish plotline.
