Greg kicked away the chair in frustration. Still nothing. Not a single clue. Musgrave and his men had disappeared without a trace and with him the two Kratides, who were probably either dead or held hostage somewhere. He'd have to call on Sherlock Holmes after all.
"Oi Greg, calm down. Since when do you get so upset about this?" Sally Donovan leaned against her desk, arms crossed, a look of confusion on her face. "Just ask the freak to help ya and we'll be fine."
The inspector sunk his face into his hands. "Why can't we do something on our own once? One grand mystery solved all on our own, like proper adults."
"You've never been bothered by asking for help before." Donovan remarked, worry clouding her face. "Maybe you should get some rest. You've been on ya feet for 48 hours."
Greg shook his head wearily. He couldn't rest, not with all these loose ends. He knew Sally was right. It had never bothered him to ask Sherlock Holmes for help, despite the cold remarks and humiliating reports, it had always been an honour to watch him work. Furthermore, Greg would be looking forward to working with his friend again. But the last days had been hell, chasing a trail gone cold, finding nothing but doors slammed into their face and endless piles of paperwork.
Sally padded him on the back encouragingly. "At least take a nap in your office, I'll keep an eye out." With a defeated sigh, Greg nodded and , thanking her, disappeared to his rooms, dropping on his chair, knowing that the uneasiness would make it impossible to fall asleep.

For a while, Lestrade sat with his head resting on the cold surface of his desk, staring into nothingness, trying to go over the details of the case in his head. How did Sherlock do this mindpalace thing anyway? He could barely stay focused on the facts, his mind drifting of, memories of gentle kisses and sparkling blue eyes. Ridiculous. It was as if he was a teenager again, his head in the clouds, when actual human lives where at stake. He banged his head against the table in frustration. Then he stopped, listening intently. A phone was ringing, quietly, and it wasn't his. Looking around the room, Greg found a small, old-fashioned mobile phone placed neatly in his drawer. He went cold all over. How could anyone even have access to his office? The place had been swarming with policemen all day. Taking a deep breath, he answered. "Hello?"
A distorted, electronic voice answered. "There is a cab waiting outside. You will take it. You will ask no questions and you will tell no one. Do as I say and nobody will be harmed. I assume I do not have to explain the situation, Detective Inspector?" The call ended.
Heart beating fast, Greg stormed out of the office with a mumbled excuse, a thousand thoughts and theories running through his mind. There was indeed a cab waiting outside. He approached it with an ice-cold decision and entered. "What is this? What do you want?" He asked the driver, an elderly man in a thick trenchcoat. To Greg's surprise, he answered. "Don't worry, Inspector, no one intends to harm you. My employer has information for you. You will not tell anyone of this. At the next stop, you will get out and change vehicles. I will take your mobile phone and any other traceable technology and make sure it comes back to you this evening." The man spoke with an educated and calm voice. The inspector narrowed his eyes, torn between curiosity and anxiety. "What if I don't?" He asked. The driver shrugged. "Then you can get out and walk home. Yet you won't find the villains you are looking for."

The change of cars took place in the middle of a long, winding road and the next car, a white van with the advertisement of a cleaning company on the sides, drove of with Greg in the back. They went on for a while, worries nagging the detective's stomach. At last, the van stopped and Greg was shown to a large warehouse. "Classy." He murmured, looking around the place, senses alert. It was gloomy and dusty, filled with old machinery, long forgotten and left to rot. Cardboard boxes with worn out labels were stacked at the edges. A bit of yellowish light fell from the high, small windows, casting long shadows over the dirty floor.
"Apologies for the rather complicated journey." Sounded a sweet, female voice. "I did not wish to take chances with my security." A woman peeled herself from the darkness. She wore an elegant suit, her hair put up in a tight up-do, pronouncing the harsh but beautiful features of her face. Her pretty eyes were cold and playful, as she stretched herself dramatically on the cold metal of the machine.
"Who are you?" Greg asked impatiently. The woman arched her brow, twirling a cable around her fingers. "Didn't the ice-man tell you he was going to find an informant for you? What did you expect, a guy in hoodie, meeting you in a shady bar? Not really classy enough for him, I think." She grinned maliciously. "Oh look at you, your whole face lights up when I mention him. No need to pretend, please, I could sell you the most wanted criminals in England, of course I know when the British Government starts sleeping with a cop from Scotland Yard."
"Who are you and where do you get your information from?"
"Haven't you deduced it yet, Inspector? I'm The Woman. Nice name, isn't it? Got the idea from Sherlock, he is ever so sweet when he is drugged..."
Greg gasped in surprise. "But Irene Adler is dead! She was found, she-"
"Don't look so betrayed, Mycroft Holmes only found out about it a couple of months ago."
"And Sherlock?"
Her gaze softened for a moment. "How do you think I survived?" She jumped of the machine and walked towards Greg, facing him. "I owe him. So I give his brother information every now and then. Now someone tried to kill him and it seems I can finally repay my debt. The men you're looking for are only small footmen of a much bigger organisation. Musgrave is nothing but a low-class criminal. You won't find him by looking for gold or jewellery being sold, his employers are far to clever for that. Tell Sherlock to look in Musgrave's old bedroom, he will find clues pointing him to his hideout."
"But you know where they are ? Can't you just tell us were to find them and who their employers are?"
Irene's eyes flashed with sudden fear and anger. "My involvement in this has to be as minimal as positive. Not a word to anyone. Make it look as if Sherlock Holmes found him by himself"
"And the employers? Who are they?"
"They are way too big for you and no man is worth risking my life for. All you need to know is, when Sherlock Holmes took Moriarty's network apart, he created a power vacuum in the criminal underground. All kinds of criminal scum, from the art forger to the serial killer, waiting to be the next Mr Sex. Jim Moriarty passed his legacy on to the only person he trusted. And that man has been biding his time for two years, putting together his own empire, piece by piece. You got a taste of what he is capable of when your friends got trapped and tortured in Sherrinford prison. If you go after him, he will make Sherrinford look like a nice holiday hotel." Her eyes were dark, gleaming with a mixture of fear and admiration. She turned around, slowly walking back into the darkness, the sound of her heels echoing through the halls. "Do give Sherly my love and all my best wishes for his new relationship." She said, looking back over her shoulder. "I've been telling him to make a move for ages."

It was dark by the time Inspector Lestrade came back into his office. Donovan reported that no new discoveries had been made and he confessed that he also failed to discover anything of importance. Back in his office, he leaned over his paperwork, texting Sherlock to meet him next morning for a trip to the Musgrave's manor.
He was leaning back in his chair, groaning, as something caught his eye. A shimmer between the files on his desk. Greg reached for it and pulled out a small, silver box. He opened the lid, taking out a folded piece of paper. Written in an elegant, clean handwriting it said:

My love,
Take this as a promise.
My promise to love you, to protect you, to surprise you,
to kiss you whenever and where ever you wish.
Happy Valentine's Day,
Myc

Under the letter was an elegant but simple silver ring, with a simple engraving on the inside:
"my division."