Sebastian Moran; Greg Lestrade

When Greg Met Jim

Greg Lestrade met James Moriarty on a cold night in eastern London, between a candy store and a dry cleaner.

He'd found out about the man from Sherlock during their showdown. He knew his game and knew his trade. Consulting Criminal, as he'd been told. Well, he'd done some digging and found out how to contact the man. If anyone asked, he'd say he got the info from a friend of a friend of a friend. 

They'd picked this particular spot because it was a blind spot on CCTV. Lestrade wasn't dumb, he knew Mycroft had people always watching. If Lestrade was ever caught communicating with this man, let alone meeting him face to face and not arresting him on the spot he'd lost his head.

He needed to do this though. 

So, on a cold Thursday night in eastern London, Greg Lestrade watched as a car pulled up at the end of the alley and the man himself stepped out. James Moriarty, in the flesh, with a chilling grin on his face. 

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, did your pet finally get tired of you?" Jim paused, holding a hand up. "And please, I do have protection present and I'd rather do this without bloodshed so if this is a setup, let me know." True to his word, two armed brutes stepped out from the driver side, though they stayed behind the car. There was a beat of silence where Lestrade just stared, adjusting his stance slightly to make himself more open. He raised an eyebrow in challenge and Moriarty grinned. "Then down to business, shall we? You know what to say!" His voice was annoyingly sing-song with his Irish accent making him sound more like a leprechaun than a highly intelligent criminal mastermind.

"I need you t-" Lestrade started, before being cut off by Moriarty clicking his tongue with a shake of his head. 

"That's not the line and you know it. Didn't your informants tell you?" He stepped closer,  only a few feet between them.

"Dear Jim, please, will you fix it for me?" Lestrade gritted his teeth through the words and let out a slow breath when Jim taps his face in praise like he's a dog. 

"There's a good boy." Like a dog. "Now, what can I fix for you?" Moriarty looked unbearably smug, bouncing on his heels. Greg squared his shoulders. He would not be somebody's dog. 

"There's a man I need you to trace. He's kidnapped and murdered several children. He's gone off to god knows where. We're pretty sure he has a kid with him or stowed away somewhere, so we need him alive." His voice was even and prepared as he pulled a thick envelope out of his jacket's inside pocket. "I'm prepared to pay yo-" He was cut off my Moriarty's abrupt laugh. 

"I'll do it, but I don't want your money." He stepped impossibly closer, his smile turning sadistic. There was a dangerous glint in his eye and Lestrade had to force himself to stay put against it. 

"So what do you want?" He asked, voice rough. He watched Moriarty's hand as it rose and slowly curled around his neck and up through his hair. He lowered his head as fingers carded through his silver locks though kept his eyes open and on Moriarty.

Then suddenly, with a twist of his wrist, Moriarty gripped his hair and pulled down hard. He hissed as he had no choice but to fall to his knees, wrenching his head back as he went to try and lessen the grip. From his position, found himself in a staring match with cold, dangerous eyes. He glared the best he could and hardened his gaze as Moriarty caressed his face again.

"What I want," He punctuated his word by tightening his grip, "is Sherlock Holmes's favorite DI as my pet." 

"No." Lestrade shook his head minutely. "No, pick something else. I'm not going to be your bloody dog." 

"Think long and hard about how much you want this man caught, Inspector." He pauses, playing thoughtful. "In that case, think long and hard about how easy it would be for me to hide him away forever, or even just kill him. You'd never find the kid, never bring him to justice and then," He trails off, shrugging. "Who knows what's next?" 

Lestrade takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. He closes his eyes for a moment. How badly does he want this man caught? Bad enough to risk his job by going to a criminal for help, that's for sure. But bad enough to work for the man? To be at his beck and call? 

He imagines telling the family that the case got closed. He imagines the sweet mother going weak in the knees with the force of her cries, the father holding her up as he tries to stay strong for the both of them. He can hear the little girl screaming for help as if she was right next to him. He can see her tiny body losing all hope of ever being found. He can see the man who did this grinning as he tells his buddies in the bar how he got away with it all.

He opens his eyes and the decision is made. 

"I'll do it."