Warning: It's dark, it's rated M for a reason. Yes, blood is involved, no sex though.

Stay Away

DI Lestrade was the last one to leave the office after that dreadful day. He had lost a good man today, he had been fed lies and his own detective mind didn't know what was right or wrong. It was driving him mad.

That's why he'd been looking over the autopsy of Sherlock and the report from John and several other witnesses for the last two hours. There was something wrong, something that didn't fit the picture, but he couldn't put his bloody finger on it. Sherlock would've known…or would he? Had he really staged all those cases?

Greg sighed as he got in his car, his mind practically buzzing with information, but nowhere to store it. Sherlock's death was clear, his jump was clear, the effect was clear, but the how and the why…He shook his head. Was Moriarty real or was Sherlock a liar? A psychopath?

Sherlock Holmes is a great man…and one day he might even be a good one.

His own words came back bitter and taunting.

"Fuck!" Greg hit the steering wheel, hard, with his fist. If they'd only had the body of Moriarty, but no, it had been removed. There was enough blood on the roof to estimate how much he'd lost and Moriarty was suspected dead. The blood also did belong to James Moriarty, but he was a consulting criminal. Surely he could fake his own idiotic death, just to get to Sherlock…

"Enough, Greg…" he said to himself. "Get some rest."

He turned the key and started on the journey home. He'd moved into a flat now, his ex took everything including his pride, but it still felt good to have something of his. Even if it was a crappy apartment near King's Cross.

Greg was tired, exhausted and hungry. All he wanted to do when he opened the door was to grab some food and go to bed. Instead his body was filled with panic as soon as he opened the door and turned on the lights.

In his living room stood none other than James Moriarty, very much alive. Greg slammed the door shut and pulled out his gun, directing it at Moriarty.

"Now, now, Detective Inspector…no need to pull that up." James said.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he growled.

"Put it down, Lestrade or my men will shoot you." As he spoke, a red dot appeared on Greg's chest and he sighed. "I only give people one warning, Greg..."

Greg looked at him bitterly, but decided to put his gun down on the ground and lift his hands up in the air to show his surrender.

"Atta boy." James smiled and the dot on Lestrade disappeared. "Now, you're probably wondering what's going on," James continued as he walked closer to Greg. "I should be dead, but so should someone else. You see, Sherlock tricked me." For a moment Greg saw James's eyes darken with anger and rage, but it vanished within seconds and a vacant expression took over. "He's not really dead."

"But the autopsy…" Greg muttered.

"I forgot about little Molly Hooper. Should've had a sniper directed at her head too…"

"Her too? You had snipers directed at someone else?"

"Oh yes." he grinned. "I suppose it doesn't matter if you learn the truth. I needed Sherlock to die. Told him his friends would if he didn't…"

"So he's not a fake, you fooled the world?"

"Can you blame me, Detective Inspector? It was too much fun. I enjoyed it immensely."

"You're sick." Greg spat.

"Careful there…remember who you're with."

"What do you want?" he glared.

"I want to finish what I started. Sherlock believes he tricked me, which I must admit he did, but I just paid a visit to Molly and she can't really hold her tongue while being tortured." his facial expression looked sad, but his eyes were gleeful. "Too bad…"

"You tortu-…jesus!" Greg groaned.

"Now I'll have to do the same to you." Moriarty closed the distance between the two and pressed Lestrade up against the wall. He'd taken out a pocket knife and Greg eyed it carefully. "I don't like getting my hands dirty, but I'll make an exception for Sherlock's dearest friends."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends."

"Oh ho, doesn't he?" James grinned. "Then why did he jump for you? For John? For Mrs. Hudson? To be honest, I'm not really looking forward to paying her a visit. She's so old…seems pointless to kill her." he paused. "But that won't stop me."

Lestrade looked at the man in front of him; eyes glistening with madness and rage and revenge. He understood now what Sherlock had done and why. He wished his idiotic police force had searched harder for the body of Moriarty or been at the autopsy with Miss. Hooper. If they all had been a bit more brilliant, like Sherlock, this could have been avoided.

"He didn't die so now you have to kill his friends?" Greg asked.

"I'll give him a warning first," James said as the blade of the knife pressed against Greg's throat. "then we'll play some more until that little detective learns the rules."

"It's Sherlock Holmes, he'll never learn the rules."

"Oh, I think he will this time." Moriarty slashed the knife down across Greg's face and he winced in pain, turning his cheek away from the mad man. He could feel the sting. It wasn't bad, but this was Moriarty. He knew worse would come.

An hour later Lestrade was lying on the floor with his hands tied together, covered in cuts and bruises yet to form. He'd been beaten, kicked and cut open across his whole body. Small cuts, but lethal in high numbers. James Moriarty was leaning over him, admiring his work. Greg groaned, he'd lost blood and the pain he felt when moving was unbearable.

"Listen very carefully, Detective Inspector," Moriarty said as he leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Sherlock won't ever know of this, but if I see you working with him again…well, I won't be so sweet next time."

"This…is sweet?" Greg mumbled.

"You're not dead yet." he stated matter-of-factly. "You'll banish Sherlock from your life or I will kill you and everyone you care about. I made a promise to Sherlock, he will burn and he will lose his friends."

"Just kill me already." he groaned.

"Killing is easy and I don't play that way. Now do you understand what I want you to do if Sherlock comes strolling back into your boring little life?"

"Sod off." he said through gritted teeth.

"Now, now…don't piss of the man with the knife, dear." Moriarty pressed the blade against Lestrade's thigh and dragged it down towards his knee slowly. Greg bit his lip and twitched on the floor from the pain. "I said, do you understand?"

"Yes! Piss off!"

"That's better." Moriarty leaned down and kissed the cut, as if it would make it better.

"I've given you my word, I made my promise. You can leave now." Greg glared at him.

"I suppose you're right. You're fun to play with, I feel we bonded quite well."

"Jesus…" Lestrade rolled his eyes. He was weak, he felt his body were mere moments away from giving up. All he wanted to do was call an ambulance.

"Don't forget me now. I know your position, but I've got eyes and ears everywhere and I really don't mind making you live in fear, Lestrade." James leaned down, eyes lingering on the bloody man in front of him. He soon closed the distance between them, giving Greg a gentle and sweet kiss. Greg should've tried to push him away, but his body wasn't strong enough so he just gave in. It was warm and powerful, Moriarty's final move of ownership.

James got back up and straightened his suit as Greg started to see stars before his eyes.

"Don't worry. I know you'll keep your word so an ambulance is on it's way. Be nice now, Lestrade…behave." James sneered down at him as it all got blurry. He thought he could hear his haunting laughter as he felt his body almost floating away. Then everything got black.

This was fun. I think I'm a twisted person deep down. Woops. Not sure if I want a 2nd chapter.

PS: I did this because of a challenge from my friend. Hope it's enjoyable!