Chapter 3

For several days, Alyssa heard nothing from anyone. Greg had been ignoring her; whenever she entered a room at work, he would find an excuse to leave it the moment she entered. Hardly subtle, but comical nonetheless. Their next interaction came in the form of a text message, one Sunday afternoon. "Watson has invited us both for a few drinks at his and Sherlock's place. 7 o'clock." And that was it. Alyssa sent back a quick "okay" in response, before checking the clock. 4:30pm. Still plenty of time to get ready. Settling back against the many cushions on her leather sofa, Alyssa thought back to the last time she had seen Lestrade, the night when Sherlock had made the brilliant deduction of their affair. She knew that had pretty much been the death sentence for her secret nights with the Inspector, and the majority of her was almost relieved by this. Whilst sneaking around was practically second nature to her, part of her had always felt guilty.

Alyssa had had no intention of starting an affair with Greg Lestrade when she had first met him. He had been having marital troubles long before she had begun working within the forensics department; the constant bags under his eyes and short temper had been evidence enough for that. At the beginning, Alyssa and Greg had had very little contact with each other. They had been briefly introduced, and they saw each other occasionally in the field if Alyssa was called out to a scene, but they did not exchange even a single word before That Day. For several weeks before the day in question, Alyssa noticed a change in the man. He appeared to be more relaxed; he would later describe it as a feeling of 'freedom'. She hadn't known it then, but his arguments at home had gotten to the point where Greg and his wife had gone on a 'break'. His wife had gone to stay with her parents, leaving Greg alone at home. "We decided time apart was what we both needed, if we were ever going to make our marriage work again." Greg told Alyssa once. That may well have worked, had it not been for That Day.

That Day had been a long one. Alyssa had been asked to work an extra shift, mere seconds before walking out the door. There had been a shooting in downtown London, with lots of evidence to be collected, and half of the night shift had called in sick. 'Food poisoning' apparently, from the Night Shift Team Night Out that had taken place the previous evening; the team did it every few months, their way of blowing off steam. Interpreting 'food poisoning' as 'supremely hungover', Alyssa had begrudgingly accepted the extra shift, and had driven herself to the scene. The scene had been a rarely used side street, the body about halfway down. The scene itself wasn't particularly special; just an alleyway like any other, leading to a busier part of London. Dark, dank and completely cliché. Just as she was exiting her car, forensics kit already in hand, she had heard the report come over the police radio of the suspect being sighted several streets over. As one, the police officers went off in pursuit. After all, the only body in the vicinity was the dead man. Alyssa was safe.

She was, of course, wrong. As Alyssa had begun slowly assessing the body, already cleared to remove evidence from the Coroner, who had been leaving as she arrived, she had heard faint movement from the far end of the alley. Assuming it was just another police officer, Alyssa had bent down, to retrieve several interesting fibres that seemed to be stuck to the congealing blood around the bullet wound in the dead man's head. The footsteps had come to a halt, and a faint prickling on her neck made Alyssa look up. Stood several metres in front of her, was a tall, very angry-looking man, holding a gun. Oddly, the man appeared to be holding some form of fabric, a hoodie maybe, over the barrel of the gun. The barrel that was pointing at her.

"Strange choice for a silencer. I've heard potatoes work better." Alyssa remained crouched down, calmer than anyone else would have been in that situation. She never took her eyes off of the gun, already calculating possible ways to shield herself. Unfortunately, her options in this bare alleyway were limited. She had to keep him talking, keep him distracted, until someone decided to come back to check on her. "In case ya hadn't noticed, love, there's a shortage of potatoes in this alley. Gotta use what I got, y'know what I'm saying?" Despite herself, Alyssa chuckled a little. The man had a slight accent, that she couldn't quite place. "You're pretty aren't ya, for a police officer." Rolling her eyes, Alyssa decided against correcting the man. She didn't feel it would be particularly useful in getting her out of the situation. She wondered if she could tackle him. He looked to be around 6ft, almost an entire foot taller than her, but he was skinny, there was not much to him. However, the hand holding the gun was steady, and the man was calm, even calmer than her. He had done this before, and he would not hesitate to do it again.

"Shame really. You're so pretty, that I almost feel bad for having to kill ya. But, you've seen me now. Can't go letting ya live after that now, can I?". The man motioned with his gun for her to stand, and Alyssa did so, very slowly, hands above her head. "Why did you come back? Why risk it?" Keep him talking, Alyssa, it is your best chance, she kept repeating in her head. The man smiled, and it was a menacing one. He knew he had her trapped. He had quite clearly orchestrated the fake sighting a few streets over. Once again motioning with the gun, he nudged it slightly to Alyssa's left. Lying in the shadow of several bins, was a leather wallet. Alyssa sighed, and the smile became a sneer. How could she have missed something so damn obvious?

"It's been a pleasure talking with ya, pretty officer. But, now it's time for ya to die." The man centred the gun on her again, and Alyssa knew this was the end. She quickly shifted her position, so that the bullet would miss her heart. It was a subtle shift, the man did not even notice it, however it was Alyssa's last hope for survival. Surely by now, the police would have realised the "sighting" of the suspect was a fake and would be heading back to the crime scene. Her only hope now was to be found in time, before bleeding out. The sneer had disappeared from the man's face now, a grim determination casting shadows over his visage. Alyssa prepared herself, bracing her body and her mind for the inevitable ripping sensation that would come with the bullet wound. Closing her eyes, she waited…

Alyssa heard the gun shot, but no bolt of lightning tore through her body, signifying the path of the bullet. She was aware of a dull thud, a body hitting the floor. Was she still standing? Where was the pain? The frantic beating of her heart, as well as her ragged breathing, appeared to echo through the alleyway as Alyssa opened her eyes. Immediately, she noticed the second body lying on the floor of the alleyway, in the exact spot the killer had been standing. She blinked a few times before looking at her hands. She definitely did not have a gun. A faint shouting was beginning to weave its way through the fog of breathing and heart beats that currently occupied her hearing, as she took a confused step towards the body.

"Hey! Hey! Are you alright?" Alyssa started as someone clapped a strong hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. The weight was comforting, and she spun to face a man she vaguely recognised as Detective Lestrade. His face was a picture of concern, his mouth continuing to move, however the fog still hadn't quite cleared yet, and his words were taking much longer to reach her. Alyssa nodded dimly, before pushing his hand off and moving to the original body. Other officers were arriving now, including more crime scene analysts, who clearly had no idea that she had almost been shot. They reported to her, waiting for instruction. Her heart was beginning to slow down now, her mind becoming clearer, and she realised that she may well be going into shock. She needed to get out of the alley, fast.

After a brief few minutes telling the analysts what needed to be collected and in what manner, Alyssa quickly finished collecting the fibres she had been retrieving before nearly getting herself killed. She also bagged the killer's hoodie, using the evidence as an excuse to retreat to the lab. She walked past Detective Lestrade without looking at him, ignoring his attempt to stop her, to talk to her, and got into her car. Hardly daring to breathe, out of fear she may break down, she turned the volume of her stereo up, blasting her favourite band out of her speakers as she sped away from the scene, and the horrors that had happened there.

The thumping rhythm of her favourite song carried her the whole way back to the lab, the deep bass pounding away at her memories of the evening, until all that was left in her mind was the melodic vocals. Several hours later, Alyssa was sat in the lab, analysing the fibres, singing softly under her breath. "I wanted to hide, now I just wanna find you…" The repetitive lyrics soothed her, as she hummed quietly. She was busy comparing the fibres from the bullet wound in the victim, to the hoodie that the killer had been holding over the gun. It was obviously the right suspect, his trying to shoot her was proof of that, however that would not hold up in court. She needed to match the fibres, test the hoodie for gun shot residue, and hopefully match DNA from the sweat stains to the man who had threatened her. Not that any of it mattered now.

"What do I know? Maybe the silence is dangerous…" Her singing stopped abruptly as she became aware of the door to the lab opening. She looked up from the microscope to find Detective Lestrade standing there, watching her. She blushed as he grinned at her, and she realised just how boyish the older man was. "Don't stop on my account. There aren't enough people in this place happy enough to sing." She laughed at that, and his grin widened. He waved his arm slightly, silently asking if he could move closer to the microscope. Alyssa nodded, and her blush deepened as he moved closer. "I came to see how you were doing. You left in quite a hurry back there. I got worried you might have been in shock." She sighed. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid. "Look, Detective I…." Her reluctance must have shown on her face, for the man held up a hand, and his eyes became apologetic. "If you don't want to talk that's fine. Thought you might have wanted to thank me for saving your life though!" He smiled at her again, a mischievous glint lighting his startling brown eyes.

"Honestly, I hadn't given much thought to how that man got shot. I was just so glad to get out of there!" Lestrade moved closer to her, close enough that she could smell his aftershave, and he laid that comforting hand on her shoulder again. This time she didn't shrug it off. He smelled woody, heady, and faintly of musk. Heat flooded her body as she became all too aware of their closeness, and without thinking, she raised her head to meet his gaze. There seemed to be a fire in his eyes that matched what was coursing through her body, and she quickly tore her gaze away to look at the scope. Lestrade had stopped smiling, an intensity she'd never seen in anyone lighting his face, making it difficult to look away.

"Mind if I take a look?" His voice was softer now, softer but gruffer, an edge to it. The intensity of his eyes had reached his voice, it seemed. Trying not to breathe, Alyssa nodded, and went to push herself away from the workstation, but the hand on her shoulder gently caressed its way down her back, to rest on the table top, the path it traced burning ever so slightly. Lestrade leaned forward, to look into the scope, pinning her next to him. She was so close, she could feel his body as he leaned over her legs. Without meaning to, she studied his physique; he was muscular, more muscular than she might have believed at first glance. The heat in her body was beginning to become a crescendo, the combination of his body so close to hers and the smell of his aftershave weaving together to create a fire that she was slowly becoming engulfed by. Desperate not to lose control, she tried to find something else to focus on, but the damned man chose that exact moment to look away from the scope, directly into her eyes.

"He was right, you know. You are very pretty." Lestrade's eyes never left her face. Alyssa was about to blush even more, but his words sank in and suddenly she was angry. "Just how long were you stood there? I thought I was going to die! Didn't you think to intervene sooner?" He laughed at her indignant expression, before bringing his face intoxicatingly close to hers. "He didn't seem to see me in the shadows. I thought I'd be a hero. Save the damsel in distress." It was becoming very, very difficult to think straight, as his eyes, and their heat, burned into her. "I… I am no damsel. I can take perfectly good care of myself thank you." Lestrade brought his face even closer to hers, his lips barely brushing her cheek. "Prove it to me." His whispers stoked the flames, and without thinking about the consequences, or about the fact that she had heard someone say weeks ago that this man had a wife, Alyssa had succumbed to the fire.

7pm arrived, and Alyssa was standing outside Baker Street, her ruminations of her first meeting with Lestrade echoing in her mind. Trying desperately to forget just how passionate that evening had been, she crossed the street, and knocked on the door of 221B. Mrs Hudson answered the door and gave a delighted squeal when she noticed the bottle of wine in Alyssa's hand. Grinning, Alyssa followed her up the stairs, and into the flat of Watson and Sherlock. Lestrade was already there, talking to the other two men. All three looked up at her as she entered, and she smiled. Briefly meeting Lestrade's eyes, she blushed and looked away, memories of the weight of his body on top of hers cutting into her usually controlled mind. Watson and Sherlock appeared oblivious to this and invited her to sit down.

As memories knocked at her consciousness, Alyssa settled herself in a seat next to Watson, and took a sip of the wine Mrs Hudson poured for her automatically. She hated wine, and she remembered that fact immediately. She pulled a face and set the glass down. "Not a fan of wine, I take it?" Alyssa looked up at Watson and grinned sheepishly. "It's polite, isn't it, to bring wine to a gathering? Honestly, though, I would much prefer rum!" The man laughed at that, and began discussing the merits of a good wine and for a moment Alyssa studied him. He was smaller in stature than the other two men in the room but had the same greying hair as Lestrade. His eyes twinkled, and appeared to be the most unusual combination of blue and grey. They really were the kindest eyes Alyssa had ever seen, and she instantly warmed to him. They continued to talk about alcohol for a few more minutes, before turning their attention to Sherlock and Lestrade.

"What do you mean, you're going on holiday? You can't go on holiday. Who is going to give me cases if you aren't here to need me?" Lestrade rolled his eyes at Sherlock's tone, and Alyssa supressed a giggle. "Sherlock, I'm sure you can survive for a few weeks without me. Anyway, there are other detectives on the force. If they need you, I'm sure they'll exhaust every other option before calling you." Both Alyssa and Watson laughed at Lestrade's words, and Sherlock finally turned his attention to her. "Alyssa! Tell the Detective he simply cannot leave!" Tilting her head to one side, Alyssa gazed at the taller, rather eccentric looking man. "Well, I mean, I could tell him that, but I really doubt he would listen to me." All eyes were on Sherlock now, who looked positively confused. He looked between Alyssa and Lestrade for a moment, before settling back down into his chair, arching his fingertips as he did so. "Surely, you must be going with him, if he is going away?" Sherlock was looking fervently at Alyssa now, and she failed to see where his scrutiny was leading. She heard a faint, "here we go" from Watson, as Lestrade awkwardly brushed a hand through his hair.

"Sherlock, I am going away with my wife." Lestrade's voice was firm, a tone he usually reserved for Anderson when he was being particularly useless. Alyssa carefully hid her shock; so that was why he had been avoiding her. He hadn't wanted to admit things were over between them. The fool probably assumed she would get emotional about it. "That doesn't make any sense. You and Alyssa are together. You clearly care more for her than for your wife. You certainly started to dress better when you met Alyssa." Alyssa snorted, and suddenly all eyes were on her again. Rolling her eyes, she decided to be blunt. "Sherlock. Me and Lestrade were having sex, simply because he and his wife were separated, and he was frustrated. Clearly, they are trying to make things work again. Congratulations on that, by the way."

She directed her last sentence to Lestrade, who was sat in his chair, gaping at her. His mouth snapped closed, and he gave a small nod of acceptance. Watson shifted uncomfortably. Sherlock had not moved a single muscle, continuing to evaluate hers and Lestrade's every word and movement. "That doesn't seem very fair. Are you sure you are choosing correctly, Detective?" Watson suddenly glanced sharply at Sherlock, and muttered "not appropriate". Sherlock's eyes became slightly clouded, as though he was, for the first time, uncertain of what was going on.

"Look, Sherlock, not that this is something I would usually admit to two men I barely know, but whilst my time with Lestrade has been… pleasurable… we both knew it would never amount to more than a few nights a week, secreted away in my apartment. It never amounts to more than that. Men are just men, Sherlock. They see me, and all they see is my body. It's fine. It fills a void. I'm not stupid enough to believe any man would ever actually fall for me. It is what it is." Alyssa shrugged, nonchalance seeping out of every pore. It was true, after all. She could only work with what she knew, and loveless sex was just that. All she knew. The atmosphere of the room had changed during her little speech. Sherlock looked almost ashamed of himself, Watson looked like she had suddenly grown two heads, and Lestrade. Well. His face was a storm of emotions. Guilt. Sadness. Pity. Disbelief.

It wasn't long before the men decided to call it a night. Mrs Hudson had arrived just after Alyssa's tirade, offering nibbles and more wine, and both Alyssa and Lestrade had stood at the same moment, making their excuses. Sherlock hadn't spoken a single word since her revelation, but he did glance at her briefly as she put on her coat and said goodbye. His expression was almost sad, like he was trying to apologise in that single look. She smiled slightly and headed downstairs and into the cold. "Do you need a lift home?" Alyssa glanced up at Lestrade, who was stood, hovering by the driver's side of his car. Did she really want to prolong this evening? He clearly wanted to say something to her, he kept playing with his hands and running them through his hair. He always did that when he was nervous. Sighing, she stepped around the car, and into the passenger seat.

The ride was a silent one, and Alyssa was becoming more and more unnerved by Lestrade's lack of words. He kept shooting little glances at her, before ruffling his hair and turning his attention back to the road. Soon, they were parked outside her apartment block, the engine idling. Abruptly, Lestrade twisted the key, shutting it off. Sensing the beginning of whatever he had on his mind, Alyssa braced herself. He took a few deep breaths, before whirling in his seat to face her. "What if I left my wife?" Her breath whooshed out of her body, so fast she almost choked. "I'm sorry, what?!" His face was earnest now, boyish again in its innocence. "Sherlock was right, in a way. I have to make a decision. I don't want to be yet another man who's taken advantage of how beautiful you are. You deserve to be happy, to be spoiled and loved." Alyssa mouth fell open in complete shock. What the hell was going on? "Greg, sweetie, how much did you drink tonight?" He laughed, before gently pulling her close to him. He made to kiss her, but Alyssa pushed him back.

"Woah, woah, woah. Okay. Sherlock has clearly gotten into your head. You do not want to leave your wife." Lestrade made to protest, but she pressed a finger to his lips. "Let me finish." She spoke more gently now, willing him to understand her. "Sherlock Holmes is right about almost everything. But he is wrong about this. You absolutely do not care more for me than for your wife." Lestrade took hold of her wrist, pulling it away from his face. "But I want you to be happy…" Once again, Alyssa shushed the Detective. "I know you do. And you feel guilty because I let slip that I've never had a relationship. But that is not a reason to leave your marriage. You want to be with me for all the wrong reasons. You do not love me. That's okay. I don't love you either." Now Lestrade looked shocked. Alyssa giggled, before leaning her head against his shoulder. "We are always going to be close, you and me. But as friends. I do not, in any way, hold anything against you. These past few months have been… well. Entertaining to say the least. I'm glad it's happened. But we both need to move on now. You can make things work with your wife, if you really want to. And honestly? I think you do."

Lestrade pulled her face up to his and kissed her very sweetly on the lips. She smiled, a little sadly. After all of their fiery, passionate kisses, kisses that had made her beg him for more, this one tasted distinctly of goodbye. Grabbing her coat and bag, Alyssa stepped out of his car, and walked up the front steps to her building. Turning, she saw Lestrade waiting for her to unlock the door. Always the policeman, needing to know she was safe. Sherlock may have interpreted that as love, or care, but Alyssa knew, in all reality, that it was just who Lestrade was. Just his personality. She closed the door slowly. She could practically feel the metaphorical ending of that chapter of her life as she did so.

When she got to her flat, Alyssa kicked off her shoes, and studied her home. The walls were practically bare, no photographs or picture frames anywhere. She felt an unusual pang of loneliness, at the stark reminder of how few people she was close to. She moved to her sofa and collapsed upon the myriad cushions and throws that littered it, suddenly exhausted. She wondered briefly if she should have accepted Lestrade's offer. After all, it wasn't like she was just going to suddenly meet a man who would fall in love with her, with all of her, like in some fairy-tale. Life simply wasn't like that.

Despite this however, Alyssa quickly sank into sleep, dreaming of faceless men come to turn her into a Princess…