Chapter 2

This was a dream. This had to be a dream.

There was absolutely no way on this earth that he was sitting in the back of Lestrade's police car in handcuffs. There was absolutely no way on this earth that he could look out the window of the car toward the nearby ambulance and see himself sitting in the back with a shock blanket on.

Seeing himself...well, it wasn't really himself; it was Moriarty in his body, but it was weird for him to see all the same.

Lestrade soon got into the police car, sitting behind the steering wheel. Sherlock peered at him through the bullet proof glass that separated them and cleared his throat, trying to get his attention. Lestrade looked up at him in the rear view mirror with a glare.

"Stay quiet back there."

Sherlock wondered whether he should try to convince Lestrade of the truth. But would that really help at all? Sherlock doubted that Lestrade would believe him. What he needed to do was talk to John.

Lestrade shifted the car into drive and started to drive away from the crime scene. Sherlock looked out the window toward the ambulance as they drove past, seeing John standing by Moriarty in his body. His body. Sherlock clenched his hands into fists.

"Am I allowed a phone call once I get to the yard?"

Lestrade looked up at him curiously in the rear view mirror. That must not be something that Moriarty usually does when he was arrested.

"You're allowed a phone call, but you never want to use it. Who are you going to call?"

"Does it really matter?"

"You almost killed Sherlock. Yes, it matters."

"I'm phoning a friend."

"Elaborate."

"No."

Lestrade looked up at him in the rear view mirror again, studying him.

"Then you don't get a phone call."

"You're impossible, Gavin."

He sighed and sunk back against the seat.

"What did you just call me?" asked Lestrade, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged.

"Did you just call me Gavin?"

Sherlock met Lestrade's gaze in the rear view mirror.

"I probably did. Does it really matter what name I called you? You'll still be the same person regardless."

Lestrade pulled to a stop in front of a stop light and momentarily swiveled around in his seat to face him.

"You're acting weird, James. Stop it."

Sherlock met Lestrade's gaze again.

"I'm acting quite normally. It's you who is acting weird."

"How am I acting weird?"

"You're unusually chatty."

Lestrade snorted at that.

"How would you know what's usual for me?"

"Well, for a man that obviously hasn't been sleeping much in the last couple days, it's just a surprise."

"How did you -"

"Your eyes are red, you have bags under your eyes, and by the looks of it, you've already gone through three cups of coffee and it's only noon," replied Sherlock as he nodded at the littered dash up front.

"Stop it. "

Lestrade turned back around as the light turned green and started to drive once more.

Sherlock sighed and leaned against the seat again. Lestrade found himself looking at the man in his backseat once more.

"What were you trying to do to Sherlock back there?"

Sherlock pondered how to answer Lestrade's question, finally coming up with an answer that he thought would be suitable.

"Nothing."

There. It was short and blunt.

"Nothing? We found him passed out. You must have done something."

"I did nothing."

Now that was the truth. He had done nothing. He had been the victim.

Lestrade snorted.

"I'm just going to quit talking to you now."

"You say that now, but you are also the one at the beginning of the ride who told me to stay quiet. You have already contradicted yourself once; there is a high chance that you'll do so again."

"Why on earth would I contradict myself?"

"See? You just contradicted yourself again. It's because you're bored."

"I am not!"

"You are too. The facts are there, Geoff."

"It's Greg!"

"Whatever."

Sherlock slouched back against the seat, staring out the window at London as it passed him by.

Lestrade went silent, partly because he was thinking and partly because he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Sherlock let out a small huff in the back seat, bored of the silence lingering in the air. Lestrade's eyes flicked back up to him in the rearview mirror.

"You're acting differently," he finally stated at long last.

He merely shrugged. If Lestrade was too stupid enough to come to the right conclusion himself, why should he bother telling him the truth. Besides, even if he did tell him the truth, it was very unlikely that he would actually believe him. Who would?

"What really happened back there?"

He met Lestrade's gaze, holding it for a moment.

"That's for you to find out, dear inspector."

Lestrade stared back at him for a second before pulling into the Yard, parking his car. He got out, grabbing his wrists and dragging him inside. Before Sherlock was led into the area where all the cells were, he was placed in a seat by a phone. He looked up at Lestrade, confused as he un-handcuffed him.

"One phone call," said Lestrade, his gaze looking around the place, but not at him. "Make it quick."

A small smile appeared on Sherlock's face. He gave Lestrade a brief nod.

"Thank you. I shall make it quick."

He picked up the phone and immediately dialed Mycroft's number. In any other situation, he would have called John, but he needed his brother on his side in order to be free of this place and get near Moriarty again. The phone rang for a couple of minutes before there was a click.

"Mycroft Holmes speaking."

"I need to see you."

Mycroft immediately recognized the voice. Silence followed for a moment.

"Why would you need to see me, James? Planning on blowing up a government building or something and feel like giving me a clue?"

"No, not like that. It's about Sherlock."

It was best to talk about himself in the third person. At least for now. That way, he could convince his brother in person. Convincing him over the phone would never work. He had to convince him to come to him. Luckily, he knew just which buttons to press to make him do so.

"What about Sherlock?"

Mycroft's voice had taken on a much more deadly tone. Sherlock smirked. Perfect. His plan was working.

"I won't tell you over the phone. You know how these phones at the Yard aren't a secure line. Wouldn't want my plan to be compromised now."

Silence lingered between them again for a moment.

"I shall send a representative-"

"No, I want you to come. If you don't come, I can't promise Sherlock's safety."

"Fine. I shall meet you for ten minutes, but only ten minutes."

"Ten minutes is all I need."

The click sounded again, signifying Mycroft had ended the call. Lestrade yanked his arms behind his back again, re-handcuffing him.

"Who did you call?" asked Lestrade as he led Sherlock toward his cell.

This time, he decided to answer Lestrade, even if his answer was cryptic.

"My only hope."