CHAPTER 1

Greg Lestrade ran a slightly shaking hand down his weary face. 8 months… 8 months of nothing until now. Not a word, not another poor sod covered in explosives, or trail of bloody bread crumbs to be sucked up by the overly enthusiastic consulting man-child that was Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty had disappeared off of the face of the earth, gone beyond where even Sherlock or his "minor position in the Government" brother could find him. Lestrade had watched as Sherlock and John, bedraggled and slightly scorched, walked out of the pool complex. He remembered how Sherlock's hands had had a slight tremor, how his face had been intense with some dark emotion and remembered how he felt, he, for the very first time, felt well and truly scared of him. It was not a game anymore, he could tell by the not-so-subtle glances Sherlock had been giving his companion, who himself was oblivious and stuck in his own head, his mouth a grim line and his eyebrows painting a furious parallel. Lestrade had shivered as he walked towards them, thinking that he was never going to see Moriarty locked up, probably never again.

Not unless an unidentified body was spat from the Thames from her diseased maw.

Now Moriarty had turned up, sent his own personalised gift to Lestrade's very own office. It had been waiting for him, after he returned from getting a shitty coffee from the Yards break room. He had sat down, not thinking much about the stack of DVDs placed upon his desk, waving them away as some evidence from his last case. After 5 minutes of trying to swallow the coffee and spinning slightly in his chair, his curiosity had finally prevailed, and he opened the envelope that he had only just noticed to the side of the innocuous stack. To Gregory Lestrade were the words thatgreeted him, written in curly cursive that squirmed and writhed as he shook out the piece of expensive looking paper.

Hi! Thought you would enjoy these little sneaky peak previews into the life of Sherlock Holmes. Who would have thought he was such a naughty boy? Oh dear, how the 'sociopath' has fallen… I guess I am just a teensy bit disappointed he and I could have had such good fun! Oh well, I suppose I'll just have to burn the heart out of him sooner rather than later. I hope you enjoy the show Gregory. The freak and his pet will be so manic, their faces a mask of shock as their… partnership is aired for all of Scotland yard to see; mmm I can just imagine it… I won't have to wait long, I'll be seeing all of you very soon.

Ciao for now ;)

Jim xx

Greg was confused. No matter how much Sherlock might have said he was stupid, or slow, the DI was not in actual fact a moron. And he hated feeling like this, so out of the loop. Why would this be sent to him? What was even on these surveillance tapes? Well, that was what he was guessing they were, by the sound of it. If Moriarty had footage of Sherlock doing something unsavoury, or unusual, wouldn't it have been better for blackmail if he had sent it to the genius himself, or the papers? He couldn't even begin to wonder what was on them; maybe Sherlock had relapsed after the emotional onslaught the pool incident had brought on. What the letter could be suggesting… that couldn't be it. Lestrade knew of the little betting ring the yard had about Sherlock and John, hell, he was a part of it. Just a bit of fun, though he thought it would never happen. Sherlock just didn't do relationships. But… No matter what he said, Lestrade knew that he wasn't a sociopath.

He scrubbed a hand through his short hair, and decided, fuck it, I'll have to just watch the tapes to find out. As he was just about to insert the DVD labelled as 1 he was interrupted by a knock at his office door, Sally Donovan blocking the view to the sea of desks outside.

"Sir?" she had a slight frown on her face, her frizzy hair somewhat dishevelled and dark circles around her eyes: the standard look of a frazzled police officer.

"Yeah Sally? Any news on those house thefts?"

"Uh no Lestrade, I was just… those tapes you have there, any idea what they are? Only I was asked in the corridor by Gregson to put them on your desk, after his usual complaints that is." Sally rolled her eyes, and then they caught on to the letter still clutched faintly in Greg's hand and the look on his face. "Everything alright there? Oh let me guess, the freaks done something stupid, again. God, I thought Watson would be a good influence on him; maybe he would prevent him from going full psychopath. I swear it's gotten worse, they're as bad as each other!" Now Greg was completely side tracked, if he had to fill out another bloody 36 page long incident form out on them again he would… Groaning slightly, Lestrade fidgeted.

"What the hell have they done now? It better not be another 'oh, the criminal just happened to have a gunshot wound to the leg, we found him like this, Lestrade, now do shut up'" He mocked in his best 'everyone's an idiot bar me' impression. Sally smirked incredulously at him.

"Nothing that bad sir, just the usual inappropriate giggles and intense eye gazing. Who has got the bets on this month? I swear the sexual tension is killing me." Sally said all this jokingly; she never thought that it would be true, never thought for a moment that someone would collect that £126 prize money.

Something in his brain stalled. God it was so obvious, it had been staring him in the face. He just didn't want it to be true. Moriarty, sending videos, Sherlock's face after the pool, the longing glances, the flirtatious teasing, the way they watched each other in a room. God no wonder the detective thought they were blind. He wanted to be happy for them, he did. John was such a good influence on Sherlock, and he actually seemed to genuinely care about him. The soldier who fell in love with the sociopath.

But he couldn't; not now their relationship was about to be put on show, when it was clear it was meant to be kept private, videos that Lestrade and two other associates acting as witnesses had to watch. Moriarty had given evidence, sent it in the sure fire way that it would have to be viewed.

"Sally… come in here and close the door. Sit down and don't say anything, just listen…"

She was mortified, Greg could see it. He didn't know the fine details of why, didn't know whether it was about pity, disgust at their relationship, disgust at Moriarty or what. He hoped it was a mixture of the former and the latter, she might come across as a bit of a bitch to Sherlock but she wasn't homophobic, at least he didn't think she was. Her hand was covering her mouth which was gaping slightly, and her eyes were trained relentlessly on the DVD cases sitting casually on the desktop, and flickered to and fro from them to the DVD that was resting in the player on a stand to the left of the desk.

"Greg… are you sure? Really? The freak and… God. We can't watch this. We can't. Who knows what's on there, look: what could fill bloody five disks worth? Is it sick that I want to watch? Shit, I hate curiosity. Just imagine it… sitting here at your desk, me, you, another poor sod all huddled round watching them slowly begin their relationship, the first kiss, the first time they get off… Fuck. It's sick. Moriarty is a sick twisted bastard; I never thought I'd feel sorry for the freak. Imagine john's face though, Mr 'I'm not gay'." She ended her tirade by giggling slightly hysterically, looking at Greg like he could do anything about this.

"Sally, calm it down. There is nothing we can do. The only thing I'm not sure about is whether or not to call the two of 'em here and tell them straight away, or watch the first one, just me and you, to gauge what they could be of, and stop as soon as anything… revealing could happen."

Greg was stuck, and this situation was rapidly becoming a problem. He was their mate, for god sakes, especially to John, who had joined him for a pint a couple of times every month. And Sherlock… well he felt like a father to him, to be honest, not that he would ever be caught dead saying that to anyone but John.

He just hoped Moriarty wouldn't ruin all their relationships beyond repair.