Sherlock One shots and Imagines

The wrong one - Part 7 - Moriarty x Sherlock x Reader

"Sherlock. What..............?" John began, as he made his way into the front room of (Y/n)'s home. The rest of his words drying up in his mouth, as he saw the blood splattered walls. The drenched white faux fur rug, and the look on Greg's pale face. The Detective Inspector seeming to be lost, as he stood in the middle of the chaos.

John was well aware that Greg thought a great deal of his sister. Despite all the differences between the characters of the siblings, the two most definitely had one thing in common, and that was the love they shared for one another. The love that they felt for others. The doctor sure that the only time that he had seen the two fall out, was when Greg mentioned that he was returning to his estranged wife. It obvious that (Y/n) didn't like the idea. That she in fact didn't like her sister in law at all. John not failing to notice the pleased look on the younger Lestrade's face, when Sherlock had informed her brother that his wife was already busy with a PE teacher. So, at this moment, John could only imagine what Greg was going through. The thoughts that were going through his head. The doctor not knowing what the Detective Inspector would do if he lost the rock that was (Y/n).

"Sherlock..........." John said again, as he moved to his friend's side. The sound of his name being called, this time shaking the consulting detectives from his shock. Sherlock coughing slightly and straightening his coat, before he took in the scene properly. His brows furrowing slightly, as he took in the knocked over furniture and the rummaged through draws. As he studied the blood spray and splatter that covered the walls.

"This isn't real. Its all been set up..................."

"Are.............are you sure.............?" Greg interrupted. The detective making his way over to where Sherlock and John stood.

"I'm sure. All this has been done to get our attention. My attention.........The blood spray is going in multiple directions. There is no pattern to it. It is as though it was thrown against the wall with a paint brush. And given the amount of blood on the rug, there should be more on the chair, yet there is nothing but a few drops. None of this blood is your sisters. She is very much alive. Though who has her and why they would take her..........I believe the blood will tell us. Though I have a feeling.............."

"You have a feeling about what, Sherlock? Will you just tell me!" Greg exclaimed angrily. The detective inspector not in the mood for the consulting detective's usual antics of making himself look smarter than everyone else. All he wanted to know was who had his sister, and he wanted to know now.

"Moriarty. Moriarty has (Y/n)......................"

                                                         >>-------------------------------<<

(Y/n) sighed. She didn't realise that being a hostage would be quite this boring, but it was. She had even given up on trying to think of ways to get out of the room. The notion of smashing a vase over Moriarty's head the next time he came in, and then trying to make a run for it; or knotting the few bedsheets together and hoping that they would somehow magically grow to be long enough to get her to the street far below, obviously completely ludicrous and really quite laughable if she wasn't in such a difficult situation.

Dropping onto the bed, she stared up at the ceiling. Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way. She was fighting when she didn't need to. If Moriarty thought he could seduce her. Thought that he could have what she had led him to believe she and Sherlock shared, maybe she should let him think that he could do it. Maybe she should lead him along, at least until her brother and the others found her. But given how she had been previously; she couldn't just change. She had to be a little more subtle about this. Let the consulting criminal think that he had been able to turn her head. (Y/n) hoping that his narcissism would cloud his better judgement. That she could make this new approach seem convincing.

"Lunch." A voice suddenly said. (Y/n) sitting bolt upright and turning her attention to the doorway. The detective looking this new man up and down. The tall, auburn haired figure, carrying another tray with food, and a deep, dark red dress that was draped over his arm.

This one wasn't like the other thugs of Moriarty's that she had already unfortunately met. He held himself differently. More rigidly. (Y/n) having a feeling that whoever he was, he had once served in the forces. And he hadn't just been a private.

"Thank you." (Y/n) said, as the man made his way further into the room and placed the food next to the now cold breakfast that she had left some time ago.

"Nice dress. Though I don't know if it is quite your colour. But what would I know........I spend my life wearing a suit, or jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe you have a lovely pair of legs and just the right amount of cleavage to pull that little number off.............." (Y/n) smiled, as she looked at the new food. The man obviously not amused by her little joke.

"It's the bosses...................."

"Oh, so its Moriarty's dress.......? Now that makes more sense. I think with his colouring he could actually make it work.............." The detective continued, as she picked up the plate and took a sniff of her lunch.

"It's the bosses wish that you wear this for dinner tonight." The man huffed, as he threw the dress on the bed. Another goon coming up behind him with a number of boxes. The man laying them on the bed too, before leaving the room. (Y/n) opening the top box to find that it contained some quite beautiful lingerie.

"I suppose that he wants me to wear this too.........?" (Y/n) asked, as she held up the clearly very expensive brassiere.

"What do you think?" Came the rather abrasive reply. The man watching her for a few moments, before he too left the room. (Y/n) deciding that if Moriarty really wanted to do this, then she really would just have to play along.