Tell Me Lies | Mystrade |

Sixteen

Greg

I sat in a shady pub near the River Thames, sipping a glass of vodka. Some frankly awful music was playing over a crackly radio, and the sound of the polkie machines was beginning to infuriate me. No doubt Moriarty was keeping tabs on me to make sure I didn't do anything stupid. He'd warned me that he'd do as much, and who was I to doubt him? I was stupid, but not that stupid.

I looked at my phone which sat on the sticky table in front of me. Still no response from Mycroft. Did I expect one? Yes, sort of. Should I have? No, probably not. After all, I'd just upped and left him without any form of explanation as to where I went. 

'Mycroft,' I'd said in the voice message, 'It's me... Again. It's not like you think. I'm not what you think I am. I'm just in a rough place right now, and I just really want you to call me back so we can talk about this. Please. I don't know how much longer I'll have my phone for... It's a long story, please just get back to me.'

"You look like you're deep in thought," came a sultry voice from behind me. 

I turned around to see an attractive young woman looking at me with her head cocked to the side curiously. She was nice-looking, but not strikingly so, if you set aside the way her eyes looked hardened, somewhat contradictory, compared to the rest of her face that seemed at ease. "Yeah, I am," I responded dismissively, turning back to stare at my phone.

"Need a friend for the night?" 

I looked back at her, surprised that she didn't take the hint that I wasn't interested. She was alright-looking. Not the usual though, by any means. She looked sort of boyish, which was good enough. Her hair was short and brown, her eyes blue in colour. Similar colours to Mycroft, except his eyes were greener and piercing. 'Even when there's an easy target right in front of you, you still think about Mycroft bloody Holmes,' I scolded myself. 

Back to the present, I shrugged. "Sit down then."

She shot me a smile and slid into the seat beside me. "Lilly," she said, reaching out to shake my hand.

"Ah..." I looked around the room quickly, my eyes hitting the fridge out the back of the bar, "Jack." I shook her hand gently, before reaching out to my phone. 

"Waiting on a call?" She asked. Wow, she really didn't hold back on the questions.

I grunted in response. 

"Girlfriend, boyfriend?" I looked at her and saw her raise her eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

"Something like that, I suppose. Not really."

"Huh."

We sat in silence for a moment or two, with her looking at me, and me looking at my phone. She went to speak again, but at the same time, my phone began to ring. Without bothering to look at the Caller ID, I answered it. "Hello?!" I said, far too excitedly. 

"What are you doing?" Came the bored drone of not Mycroft Holmes' voice. 

"I'm at the pub."

Lilly began to run her hand up my thigh, and I swallowed. 

"There's a woman running her hand up your leg. Why?"

"Erm, dunno."

There was an impatient sigh. "I should've known this was going to happen. There's a car waiting for you outside. Get into it. I can't trust you to go anywhere."

I hung up the phone and turned to look at the woman who gave me an expectant look. "Well?"

"I've gotta dash. Nice talking to you, though."

Without waiting for any more comments, I stood up and walked out of the pub, leaving the woman behind. I didn't have time to think about what that was all for. I assumed she was just a sexually charged woman looking for some fun. I couldn't disrespect that. 

There was, indeed, a car waiting for me as I stepped into the cold evening. I opened the back door and got in. "I wasn't expecting to see you here," I commented as I saw Moriarty sitting near the farther window. 

"You were crossing into dangerous territory there, Lestrade. I couldn't have you going rogue on me, could I?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," I muttered under my breath. 

"No," he agreed. "It wouldn't be."

I could feel myself slowly going out of my mind as we made the journey back to the scummy room Moriarty had me staying in. The room was nothing compared to Mycroft's spacious house. This one was more like a cupboard more than anything else. It was, I supposed, just the typical London flat that still probably cost at least two hundred quid a week. I was left alone for too long with nothing more than my thoughts and the undying urge to call Mycroft or go visit him. Of course Moriarty always had his eyes on me, in one form or another, and so it was never going to happen. Not unless it got one of us killed, or both. I just wished Mycroft knew.

Moriarty was silent the entire journey back, but I knew he was thinking. His eyebrows furrowed and he bit his lip gently - a trait I'd long ago noticed about him. I didn't want to know what was going through his mind. It could always be guaranteed to be something sinister; he was like a spider trundling over its web, teasing the flies caught in it. A shudder went down my spine at the thought of it. 

"I've got a job for you tomorrow," the consulting criminal said as we finally arrived back into the tiny flat. 

"I'm not interested."

"You will be if I tell you there's a gun to Mycroft Holmes' head if you don't do it."

I shrugged, pretending to regard it, even though my heart was racing hard at the thought. "Who knows."

"I do," Moriarty said harshly, smacking me across the face with an open palm. "You will do as I say, you hear me? I'm not in the mood for this anymore. You need to start cooperating or there will be hell to pay."

"Alright!" I cried out, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get me Sherlock Holmes."