Sherlock One shots and Imagines

The wrong one - Part 11 - James x Reader

"You don't have to follow me, Jeeves. I assure you I can find my cell.........." (Y/n) hissed, as the tall, auburn-haired henchman, "escorted" her back to the room. His grip on her upper arm getting tighter, at the use of the butler moniker.

"Be quiet................"

"Or what............?" The female detective retorted angrily; having had just about enough of this bad guy shit for one evening, as she could take. Digging her heels into the thick carpet, and forcing the man to stop.

"Seriously, what are you gonna do if I don't stop talking? Your nut job of a boss is already keeping me prisoner; and I have been threatened with death and everything else in between, since I woke up from being kidnapped. So, Jeeves, what is it that you think you can do to me, that your boss already hasn't? And before you answer that, please just remember that dear old Jimbo, seems to think that he can claim me. So, I would be very careful about damaging the goods, if I were you............" The younger Lestrade growled. Standing to her full height, yet still falling short of Sebastian's stature; even in the heels. His blue eyes growing darker, as they continued their standoff. (Y/n) deciding to push the bear just a little further, as she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, as if waiting for either an answer, or for him to actually do something. The tall man seeming to decide that rolling his eyes and growling under his breath, was the best course of action. Sebastian just grabbing her arm again and pulling her back to her room. The door slamming loudly behind her, before being locked.

"ASSHOLE!" The detective bellowed, taking off the heels and throwing them at the door. Imaging that they were bouncing off the head of her tall guard.

God, she wished that she had a gun. She had been trained, and had worked as an authorised firearms officer, even spending time with the Specialist Firearms Command, before joining her brother as a detective. (Y/n) sure that if she had her Glock, or her SIG Sauer, then she would not only be making James Moriarty regret taking her, but all his gormless goons too.

"I thought that you were supposed to be smart, Sherlock Holmes. You and Mycroft.........you always think that you are above the rest of us. That we are mindless goldfish, incapable of comprehending anything more than the basics of keeping ourselves alive. Yet despite all that, I am still here...........with that fucking psycho, and his pissed off butler. Maybe if you did feel a bit more sentiment like a normal human being, rather than being a bloody robot, I might be home already!" (Y/n) yelled, as she banged on the window. Not sure whether she was actually hoping that Sherlock might hear her, or if it was just so that she could relieve some of the stress that suddenly felt like the weight of the world on her shoulders. A deep sigh leaving her lips, as she leant her forehead against the cool pane of glass.

"Please, Greg......please Sherlock.........come find me soon, before I end up doing something that I will probably regret." The younger Lestrade added, her voice now barely above a whisper. (Y/n) closing her eyes for a moment, and imaging herself anywhere other than in the gilded cage in which she found herself. Imaging herself curled up in her comfortable chair with a bowl of popcorn, as she watched her favourite movie. Imaging having tea with John and Misses Hudson, at Baker Street, while she waited for the consulting detective to reemerge from his mind palace. Or just going for a drink with Greg, after a long week at work. Hell, even having to be in the office as Anderson and Donovan gave one another those revolting 'take me into the toilets and fuck me' looks, would be better than this.

Slowly, she pushed herself away from the window. She could not do this; she could not let Moriarty get the best of her. She could not let him get into her head. She could not question what her brother, what Sherlock might be doing in the world beyond the pane of glass. (Y/n) knew that Greg would be going out of his mind with worry; for if the shoe was on the other foot, she would most certainly be going mad, wondering where her beloved big brother might be. She was sure that he was doing all he could to find her; that John would be right there with him, attempting to do anything he could to help. And that Sherlock...........Sherlock would use this as another way to prove himself to be greater than his nemesis. That if he had realised that it was the consulting criminal that had taken her, he would see this as a challenge. A challenge that he was not about to lose. So, all (Y/n) had to do was bide her time. Yet biding her time, while in the presence of James Moriarty, was proving to come with challenges for her. Challenges that she could never have imagined.

"Okay, (Y/n)...........we can do this. They just need some more time." She said to herself, as she reached up, and began to slowly pull down the zip of the dress. Allowing the light material to fall to the floor around her ankles, before stepping out of the dress and making her way over to the bed so she could take a seat. The breath catching in her throat, as a knock came to the door; her second stocking only just having been removed. The flimsy underwear that she had been told to wear, the only things that she had left covering her. (Y/n) quickly pulling a soft white sheet from the bed and wrapping it around her, as the door opened. Her heart beginning to thump violently again, as there in the open ingress, stood a smiling psychopath.