The chilly November night air was unforgiving on Lestrade's face, and it wasn't helping he was passing shops glowing warm yellow colours. It took all his will to keep his legs moving. Cursing his wife for needing the use his car today while hers was being repaired, he eagerly anticipated the delicious hot plate of dinner waiting for him at home. He thanked heaven Caroline was a superb cook. Lestrade had tried to cook some porridge once. Who would have thought that porridge sticks to walls like glue and can completely cover an entire kitchen? Well, on reflection, normal porridge probably doesn't, but the cook had been Lestrade. That does not make for normal porridge.

Suddenly, the window of Foyles bookstore that Lestrade was directly in front of went dark. Lestrade heard a few yelps of surprise from behind the glass window. The lights had extinguished with no warning. Duty-bound by his profession, he cracked opened the door in case it was something sinister – he wondered whether he could ask for overtime.

"Is everything all right in here?" Lestrade called out into the darkness.

A voice floated from somewhere in the dim light: "I think so, the bloody power's gone out!"

"Try the fuse box!" Greg instructed.

The shop wasn't completely blacked-out; light from the street was filtering through the windows and Greg could make out a tall woman moving through bookcases to the far end of the room. After she fiddled with the electricity for a few moments, the shop was again bathed in a warm orange glow. She turned back to Lestrade.

"All good," she smiled.

"Wonderful. I thought possibly a mastermind criminal had blacked out the lights to do God knows."

"Well, the temptation of the new translation of War and Peace can sometimes be too much for a person who doesn't feel like shelling out ten quid."

Lestrade exited the shop, and resumed his stroll home. He had gone no further than the toy store right next to the bookshop when its lights, as well, went out. Lestrade didn't go in this time, but watched from the street as the manager scrambled to work the electricity. And, as before, the lights suddenly flooded the shop again like nothing had happened. Lestrade took three steps. The three steps brought him in line with the clothes shop next door, and his heart started racing when its lights went out as well.

For an experiment, he took three steps backwards, darkening the toy store again, and this time he gave the owners no time to turn the lights back on themselves before he started running. The second he past the boundary of the toy shop its lights came back on, plunging in turn each store Lestrade jogged in front of into darkness. Shop after shop was darkened and brightened as he ran past. After a while, outside the chemist he stopped, breathing deeply.

The darkness was following him.

"What a ridiculous thought," Lestrade muttered to himself. "Way to put it as dramatically as possible Greg."

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He checked the text ID. Unknown number. Opening and scanning the message, his heart start racing even faster and he looked around wildly. Yes, the darkness is following you. As are the CCTV cameras. Wondering who the hell had set the message, his tightly clenched phone vibrated in his hand again. The same unknown number. Get in the car, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

A shiny, new, black car slid up to the kerb. Although it sounded ridiculous in Lestrade's head, he thought it seemed to glide more smoothly than cars usually did. A suited man with white gloves stepped out, and wordlessly opened the door for Lestrade. The DI just turned around and started striding in the direction he had originally been going. He felt petrified, and as if his privacy had been violated – as though he and his private life was on display for the entire interested public. It was a horrible feeling. Suddenly, in front of him, two more black cars identical to the last appeared, and more suited men with white gloves got out and held the car doors open. A woman with auburn hair and a black dress who was texting on a mobile also slid out. Another text. Now you have a choice; I must say that personally I usually prefer riding with the car parked in the middle.

He thought about running away. Greg Lestrade was a good runner, and he often had a morning jog around the park near his house. He figured he could outrun these men quite easily. Detective – the cars. You are wasting my precious time.

After a moment of indecision, he decided to get in the car. He figured if he were taken to the texter he'd be able to arrest them. And just to spite the unknown number, he clambered into the car parked in the front. That gave him a strange, vindictive pleasure. The woman climbed in with him and they sped off. The two sat in silence for a time.

"So," Lestrade broke the quiet, his voice forceful. "Where am I going?"

The woman glanced up at him with an amused expression on her face. Was she laughing at him? Lestrade didn't like the look at all. She paused in contemplation for a few moments before replying: "You'll find out when we get there."

"I figured as much, thanks," he huffed, and decided to try again. "What's your name?"

"Um…I feel like…Anthea," she nodded.

"You feel like Anthea?" he asked, eyebrow raised. "So that's not your real name?"

She gave a faint chortle, and glanced back up at Lestrade, looking annoyingly knowing.

"What do you think?"

"No, I don't think it is. You make it up?" she nodded. "Fan of Greek mythology, are you?"

"Good…I think my boss will like you."

"It's not a good omen you're naming yourself after the goddess of war. I'm not sure what that means I'm getting myself into."

"Quick, aren't you? Normal people often don't pick up on anagrams."

The words worried Lestrade: who on earth could this employer be? "Anthea" didn't seem to want to talk any longer, so he contented himself with looking out of the windows. They were now driving through a very upmarket part of town Lestrade had never been to. Soon, the car turned into the driveway of a very posh looking white building. Lestrade read the sign on the car's way in: The Diogenes Club. He'd never heard of it. The stately location didn't surprise Lestrade, judging by the manipulation of the electricity in fifteen different shops plus the expensive cars and men in expensive suits.

The car door was opened for him again – Lestrade decided that he wouldn't mind someone employed to do that for him all the time. It was quite nice. He was led up a lift that took him directly from the car park to a large room furnished as if it were taken straight out of a more conservative office in Buckingham Palace. When the doors slid open the DI stepped out to be face to face with a man in an expensive beige and grey three-piece suit leaning his weight on a black umbrella. Lestrade noted that having the umbrella was strange. Not only had it not rained in London since Monday three days ago, and no rain was forecast until Saturday – but they were inside. Lestrade pushed it away. Some people were strange. Irrationally, Lestrade was a bit relieved that the man's suit wasn't black like everything else had been so far. It seemed to alleviate the threat slightly. The man smiled slyly.

"Good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

A/N: Hey everyone, sorry for it being a while since the last update! The teachers have really started piling us with work now, so frequency of updates might be a bit erratic, sorry :( But I am still always working on it, definitely! Thanks so much to everyone who's followed/favourited/reviewed, you're awesome :)

Also, thanks to Rouge Singer who pointed out that I hadn't explained the anagram in this chapter very well, and it was obscure as to what I was talking about, which I've now fixed, hopefully! :)