I clearly forgot about this story until the new Sherlock came out… SOOOO

Obviously this is now an AU. Although my original theory was said in the show, and apparently correct, anyways here's an alternate beginning to series 3. Don't worry there's still another wild theory in here, although it isn't about Sherlock anymore. P.S.~ I promise no spoilers for series 3!

I really think the friendship between Lestrade and Sherlock is underrated. I don't think they are in a romantic relationship or anything, but whenever I watch the show I love the little exchanges between the two. Brotp. Hence part of this chapter.

One chapter after this.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

It wasn't hard to describe Greg, for Sherlock at least.

Yes Greg.

No matter how many times he had said something ridiculous such as Garek or Gatiss or Gary or even Steve, Sherlock always knew that Lestrade's first name was Greg. The name just never seemed to suit the man. He never quite knew why but it just didn't seem to fit the law keeper.

Despite what the common believe was, John wasn't Sherlock's only friend. In fact Sherlock had known Greg even longer. It seems that their friendship had been overshadowed by John's arrival, most likely the cause of the press showing the two always together, not that John and he weren't the closest of friends but Greg Lestrade had always been there for Sherlock. It seems no matter the problem he would always defend him, then yell at him for being an idiot later on. Even when he held those silly little drug busts, he never meant any real harm. He just sought it out as a game, a part of Sherlock's game which he full heartily went along with to make the chase that much more exciting for the consulting detective. For the little twit that she was, Donavan never saw little bond between the two men, assuming that Lestrade hated the consulting detective as much as she did. Everyone thought that, despite how obvious their friendship really was. Still their status as friends always seemed to escape everyone's eyes, even their own at times…well all except Moriarty's.

On that rooftop Moriarty had told him that the three people he cared about most were being targeted. He knew exactly who each person was. Mrs. Hudson, the woman he thought of as daft yet still frightening when under her glare, like a second mother. John of course. And Lestrade.

Mycroft came to mind for a split second, but Moriarty wasn't going to try to go after the government just yet, maybe another day for the criminal master mind. Mycroft could handle himself, besides… others had been more family to him lately.

And one of his non-blood family members was limply sitting, head lazily lying on his right shoulder, ropes wrapped around his abdomen, legs and wrists, a dirty rag shoved in his unmoving mouth to gag him in case he waked. That is when Sherlock's cool exterior cracked for a mere millisecond. A small twitch of his eyes and his mouth, which were gone before he even realized they had happen, was all Moriarty needed to see.

"Aw don't worry Sherlock," the Irishman sneered beginning to pace in front of the occupied chair, Sherlock's defensive, emotionless returning immediately, a small glare being added.

"Let him go," John commanded, standing beside Sherlock, his previous state of shock now long gone. Sherlock spared a quick glance at the doctor and smiled when he saw that grumpy face of his. Unfortunately his medical companion had caught the glance and huffed, letting Sherlock know he was far from off the hook. Still Sherlock's smile stood because he got to stand near John, his other brother, once more. It didn't matter that he was crossed with him as any one man could be, he was there. Everything was going to be alright. Well almost everything.

The smile dropped into a frown when Sherlock snapped his head forward and saw Moriarty lazily leaning against the edge of the back of the chair. His legs were crossed over one another, off to the side, one arm bent and head tilted towards the chair resting on it. A twisted smile, like a demonic witch if they existed would have, graced his lips as his eyes stared at the three men. With a cackle, a shiver ran up John's spine.

"You see this, boys," Moriarty announced, not moving from his current position. John's eyes narrowed, unable to figure out what the other man was talking about until he saw what was in Moriarty's right hand, raised high above his head as if he was holding some grand prize. And then John's eyes widened and he gasped, looking at Sherlock, but received no returning look since Sherlock was glaring directly into Moriarty's eyes.

"What is that?" Bailey asked from his place on the opposite side of Sherlock. The entire time he had been trying to figure out how Greg Lestrade, a former co-worker of Sherlock played into all of this. Now he figured it didn't matter how Lestrade was going to be played, just that it wasn't going to end well for the older man: for any of them.

"Oh just a little mixture," Moriarty said looking at the bottle portion of the syringe as if it held the Earth's greatest treasure instead of a foreign, clear liquid. Suddenly the criminal's eyes shifted, landing directly in line with Bailey's as he smirked and said, "Want to test it out before Greggy here?"

Before Bailey could respond, his vision was lost in an ocean of dark fabric. Sherlock was now standing in front of him, staring at Moriarty with a new level of loathing. The master mind only laughed and moved so he was now standing in front of the chair, the syringe still twirling in his fingers.

Bailey could barely see around the taller man in front of him, but when he tried to step around to be able to see again, Sherlock would move with him, blocking him from Moriarty's view. This only made Moriarty laugh, causing Bailey to feel an irrational feeling of embarrassment, which was quickly shot down when the evil man opened his mouth to speak once again.

"Still protecting your baby cousin I see, eh there, Sherly?" Moriarty laughed with a pointed look to the youngest person in the room.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed both at the nickname and the fact that Moriarty knew who Bailey was. John's confused voice came from beside him, causing all three eyes to land on the doctor.

"Wait, cousin?" John asked, his face scrunching in confusion as he looked in between Bailey and Sherlock. Suddenly it hit him. Of course that's why the two looked so similar.

"Yes Johnny Boy," Moriarty slurred out, beginning to pace once more, eyes shifting from the floor to looking around the room as he did. "You see, once Sherlock faked his death, and trust me I knew quite well that it had been played out, really Sherlock I would have gone with a bungee chord if I were you, much more fun that way, I began to think to myself 'What would be the best way to destroy little Sherly's life when he gets back?' So I sent my network around, digging up the most secretive of dirt on the detective, until they could find something useful and not quite as boring as a retired army doctor. And that's when we discovered this sickly adorable story about a big cousin looking out for his little cousin all through their school and right up into their careers."

John sent Sherlock a look, begging for more of an explanation, but Sherlock's eyes would not move from Moriarty's, who continued speaking.

"If I had known about little Joey here I would've targeted him as well when we were on that lovely roof of ours, Sherlock. It seems that your stone heart has a soft spot for a little boy trying to act like the cousin who's been a big brother to him as long as he can remember. Isn't that just…touching," Moriarty sneered, returning to his place by the chair.

That is when John decided to forget about trying to find out about this mystery family member of Sherlock's at the moment and refocus his attention on Lestrade. Sherlock still stayed defensively in front of Bailey, who had stopped trying to work his way around his older cousin, finding the effort to be a lost cause.

"All I had to do was follow the two birds back to their keeper to find out where you were hiding… Now, back to our good friend Lestrade here," Moriarty said, changing the subject abruptly and moving the needle so it was dangerously close to his arm.

"What are you doing to him?" John yelled, causing Moriarty to look up from both Lestrade's arm and the needle and grined at John.

"Stop," Sherlock commanded, his tone harsh and confident, almost completely hiding the worried glimpse in his eye. The clouded eyes fell on his gray ones once more.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. I'm not going to kill your precious friend here. What would be the fun in that? I have a little surprise in store for the four of you," Moriarty stated. Without a moment of hesitation he thrust the needle into the policeman's arm and pressed down on the button, injecting the mystery liquid into his bloodstream.

He took the needle out, a couple drops of blood following, and threw it on the concrete ground beside him where the glass shattered. Taking a step backwards he looked down and smiled at what he had done. A minute went by before a gasp was heard from Lestrade's mouth.

Groggily the man began to move, his nostrils and mouth loudly sucking in air as his head turned back and forth. Slowly he began to open his eyes, but quickly gave up on it as they scrunched up in pain. His head must have been killing him. Under his breath he mumbled something inaudible. His hands tried to move, but were unable to because of the restraints, as were his legs but they too found the same fate. He must have realized this because his eyes, despite the most likely throbbing in his frontal lobe, shot open and began to slowly then franticly look around when he noticed the supposedly deceased homicidal maniac.

"W-What the heck is going on!" his voice sounded hoarse at first but then picking up volume as use brought clarity to the back of his throat. His eyes were still on Moriarty when John spoke and cause him to take a sharp turn with his neck, gasping when the stiff vertebrae were jolted so suddenly. He was feeling like an old man, bruising his pride along with his battered neck. Just peachy he thought.

"Greg everything is fine," John said calmly, his own body stiff and his neck tense as he stared into the confused eyes of his friend. The eyes went from confusion to understanding when he realized the situation. Then the only thing his eyes did was roll in exaggerated contempt. Just my luck.

"Well I see that our little friend has finally woken up," Moriarty smiled as he spoke in a semi-mocking tone. Walking over and patting Lestrade on the head like a dog he said, "Get enough sleep, sleepy head."

Without realizing it Sherlock had moved a few inches closer, his hands balling, if possible, even more into fists. Unfortunately Moriarty had realized.

"Now, now Sherlock, I'm not going to harm your little cat here. That is what this one is right? I mean John is the loyal mutt that will follow you around on your cases, and Joseph is the mocking parrot trying to copy you, so Greg here is the cat that only comes to you when he wants his food, I mean it's not like anyone else is goanna solve his cases for him," Moriarty giggled like a small child as he raised his hands in a mock surrender position then lowered them as he paced, hands now in his suit pants pockets.

Again with the infernal pacing? Sherlock thought exasperatedly in his head, but the thought vanished when Lestrade's eyes found his. O great! This reveal thing again.

But Lestrade's reaction to Sherlock's sudden existence wasn't anger or shock, as Sherlock had thought it would be.

"You great, bloody jerk!" Lestrade shouted with a large grin appearing on his face, despite his current predicament. His teeth showed even more in the smile when he saw Sherlock's head jerk back in subtle surprise at the smile, unknowing to Lestrade, John was also surprised by Lestrade's laid back reaction, expecting more anger. Yet the only thing going through the man's head was When I get out of this chair I'm goanna give you a hug, you bloody moron.

"Enough with the reunion, boys," Moriarty announced, clasping his hands in front of his face, "Time for a little game, shall we!"

At that all faces went to stone, emotionless looks, all of which were watching every move of Moriarty's carefully, especially when he started towards Sherlock.

John was about to step forward until he saw that Moriarty wasn't reaching to stab his best friend in the throat but was instead pulling Bailey from behind his cousin by grasping onto his sleeve. Sherlock reached out to stop him but stopped when he saw the red light appear on John's forehead.

Of course Sherlock thought hopelessly when he recognized the familiar circle, now also landing on Lestrade's and Bailey's foreheads. Undoubtedly one was also adorning his own brow, a warning for everyone in the room not to resist whatever twisted 'game' Moriarty had in store for them.

Moriarty dragged the stunned Bailey to the center of the three men, all of whom could only stand helplessly on the sidelines. Moriarty then pulled out a black cylinder from his jacket. John's heart sunk to his stomach when he realized it was a revolver. Sherlock took a step forward but stopped with a pointed look from Bailey, clarifying that there was in fact a target on his head. Still it took Sherlock every fiber in his being not to run over and smash his fist into Moriarty's cheek.

As unexpectedly as he always was, Moriarty did not shoot the young detective in the head; instead he took Bailey's hand, pried it open and placed the gun into his open palm. Smiling at his work and intertwining his fingers, placing his chin on them, he stepped back until he was in line with Lestrade. For almost a minute he just stood there smiling while everyone else in the room, at least everyone who could be seen, the snipers had to be somewhere, stood confused as to what was going to happen. They were all confused, even Sherlock who was just on the fringes of figuring it out. All except Bailey who stared at the gun in his hand with a sinking feeling, not knowing what he would have to do, but knowing it wasn't going to be good.

"Now then, rules!" Moriarty said drawing all attention to him once more, including a hateful scowl from Bailey. "Now, now, Joey, no need to get angry so fast. You haven't even heard what the rules are yet."

Sherlock suddenly figured it out. The four men, Bailey in the center, the gun, oh this really was one of Moriarty's sick games.

"Joseph, you are going to have to choose," Sherlock said with a pointed look to Bailey as he turned around.

"Aw, you've finally figured it out. Getting a little slow are we Sherlock?" Moriarty said, his tone sounded bored, just like it had when he had thought he had won on that rooftop. Sherlock glowered in return. Moriarty looked to the others, ignoring the look. "Here's the rules, boys. No one can move. Well you can move, you'd just get your head blown off and that's rather quite boring don't you think?"

John felt bile coming up his throat when he heard that sickening laughter once more.

"Now, Joey, like your slow cousin over there said, once again ever so late with finding it out, you have a choice to make, you lovely fellow you," Lestrade and John looked to Sherlock for answers but he was staring at Bailey with such sad eyes they knew it wouldn't end well.

"But the question is, Joseph Bailey…" Moriarty walked over to the chair, "Will you shoot the old copper who you've never met before? Or perhaps…"

Moriarty moved to stand next to Sherlock, who refused to take his eyes off his younger cousin. "…Big cousin? The man you think of as a big brother, always looking out for you, sometimes even to the point where you wish he would leave you alone. Maybe that is the reason you will choose him."

Now he stood next to John. "Or perhaps the man you've gotten angry with in the past? The one whose been annoying you all day? Then again if you were to oft him, big cousin would never speak to you again, would he?"

Moriarty walked away from John, who was trying to figure out what he meant by 'gotten angry with in the past.' But the thought left him when Moriarty waltzed back over to his original spot.

"Or you could just shoot me," Moriarty stated finally. Bailey's eyes rose from the gun and deathly stared at Moriarty, his fingers already twitching towards the trigger. "Wait there big boy, let's not get ahead of ourselves. See these red dots, they aren't for show. If I go to the gallows then so do the rest of you. I highly don't recommend shooting me. Quite messy results that'd be…So Joseph, Joseph Bailey, Detective Joseph Bailey who solved all of those big fancy drug cases, who will you kill?"

A silence filled the air after Moriarty stopped speaking, a type of silence which not only added to the seriousness of the situation but also the heart wrenching truth that there was no escape. Someone was going to die, perhaps all of them. The only question was who it would be, who would be the person, or the first person of them all, shot? The answer was in the head of the youngest man in the room, who looked contemplative at the weapon in his hand, not aiming it at anyone.

What was going through the young man's mind was mysterious to everyone in the room exempt Sherlock. He knew exactly which man was going to die today.

"Joseph," Sherlock called out, but his cousin wouldn't look up from the barrel of the gun. "Joseph! Listen to me! Shoot me. Shoot me and get the rest of them out of here. Joseph!"

Bailey either didn't hear him or just gave no indication that he did. John, on the other hand shouted his dislike of that idea quite strongly.

"Bloody heck you are. Shoot me!" John shouted glaring at Sherlock. How dare he return and then just leave me alone once more!

"John!" Sherlock shouted back. He looked like he was about to continue, but Lestrade was already speaking.

"Listen, to me! Shoot me, I'm of no importance. That man there is a genius, far better of a detective than I'll ever be. The world needs him and John over there too. The world needs both of them. Shoot me," as he spoke the words, Greg was looking at Bailey, but by the end of his statement he caught Sherlock's appalled glare and almost smiled because he didn't know whether he was horrified because Lestrade had just said he would sacrifice his own life, or because he complimented Sherlock.

Sherlock was out of his daze in a matter of seconds, and shouted to the unmoving Bailey.

"No! Me! Shoot me!" Sherlock shouted.

"Me!" John yelled.

"I said it should be me!" Lestrade yelled louder than the rest.

"Choices, choices," Moriarty said, crossing his arms and smiling with his eyes closed as though he were on a relaxing vacation.

Bailey's head was pounding. What should he do? Who shall it be? Who's blood will be on his hands?

"Me!"

"For god sakes, let it be me man!"

"I bloody said me, Joseph!"

"Joseph please! Please!"

Then it all stopped. Suddenly Joseph Bailey knew who it would be, whose life he would take.

He raised the gun.

His eyes met Sherlock's wide ones.

"Joseph… Joey please. Please." Sherlock begged softly as he saw the fear in both John's and Lestrade's eyes. Despite everything that had been said about the so called 'heartless' consulting detective, a tear began to roll down Sherlock's check.

That is when Bailey took aim, finger resting on the trigger as he spoke. A small, sad smile graced his lips. He could feel the quavering of his bottom lip as the hot tears began to wash from his eyes. He would have felt embarrassed if it had not been Sherlock's eyes he had been staring into.

"Sorry Sherly. I love you," he spoke through the tears.

"No! Joseph!"

But it was too late his finger pulled the trigger and with a BANG! the game was over.