Jim Moriarty smiled, drumming his fingers on a desk in the morgue. In Jim's left hand was the riding crop that Sherlock had –yet again- forgotten. Any minute now Sherlock would remember and come down again to retrieve it. Jim twirled the riding crop in his fingers, waiting calmly for the consulting detective. A smile crept to Jim's face at the sound of feet descending the stairs, but it melted away soon after. Sherlock's energy filled way of walking down stairs was far different than the rhythm Jim was hearing now. But before the criminal mastermind had time to react the door had been pushed open
"Now… where did Sherlock say he had put his riding crop?" The man asked himself, facing away from Moriarty. Where indeed? Jim thought to himself, a new plan forming in his mind. The gray haired man turned just as the expression on Jim's face turned from malice to innocence." Oh! I didn't see you there!" the man's dark eyes showed surprise.
"Oh, it's quite all right. Is this what you were looking for?" Jim asked, holding up the riding crop with a sweet smile.
"Yes, thank you" the man took the riding crop and smiled warmly at Jim "Greg Lestrade, by the way"
"Nice to meet you Greg, I'm Jim"