The mind game

Lestrade eagerly walked on to the crime scene, first in line to see the victim. He knelt down beside the body, nasty odors coming from within the victim's mouth. It was a rotting mouse.

"Oh…that stinks! Get me an evidence bag!"

He plopped the mouse into the bag and handed it over to forensics. This couldn't be the work of Moriarty, could it? It had been a month, since the encounter with the consulting criminal. This made him agitated, he could be anywhere.

Late night hours weighed heavily on his agenda, cases kept him at the office. Bags formed under his eyes and he relied on four cups of coffee each night.

He was turning into a big mess. Soon, morning came and he found his cheek against his desk, drool slowly dripping off the desk and a fresh cup of coffee on his desk, from Anderson.

Waking himself up with a few slaps to the face, he took the note off and found another theory of how Sherlock had survived. He groaned, it wasn't even good. But he had to admit that Anderson knew which coffee he liked, unlike a certain someone.

His mind already focused on the situation with Moriarty, but his energy levels dropped once again.

"So…tired…"

His head dropped against the table and he had fallen asleep again.

It had been a month since Moriarty's encounter with Lestrade, a long month. The majority of the  time, he had invested in criminals and information, gaining insight on up coming crimes. All of which he devised for Lestrade. Now he was equipped with everything he needed, and was ready to play the game.

Moriarty texted Lestrade, his thumbs slight and agile over the keyboard.

No sleeping on the job. Murder...in your division. JM

His mouth twisted into an evil smile as he walked inside Scotland Yard, dressed as a recoptionist. Unfortunately the other lady had a sudden fly out due to a "sick" family member.

Moriarty gazed upon the scene, seeing chaos spread throughout the building. The murder was literally in Lestrade's division. It was a previous war veteran who was stabbed multiple times, one landing perfectly in his heart. The game begins...

Lestrade jerked awake, hearing his phone go off and then the sudden screams. He leaped out of his chair, the only words he caught of the text was 'murder' and the intials: JM. Of course, last time they had met, Moriarty had said that he would be giving him a game. Looking around, he immediately saw the victim. His eyes scanned the area, slowly coming upon Moriarty himself.

He looked away, quickly moving himself to the victim, putting a pair of latex gloves on. It was an army veteran...how dare he...how dare Moriarty! His head began throbbing from the sudden awakening and lack of a decent sleep. Screams were slightly muffled by his headache.

But the race was on...what was he supposed to do? He hadn't been given any instructions! Lestrade hurried down to reception, hoping to see Belinda but was faced with Moriarty instead.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?!" Lestrade said, his tired expression combined with his grumpiness always led to him looking more intimidating than usual, his hair was a mess.

"Oh you think this is so fun...wahay..." Lestrade said, rolling his eyes.

Moriarty cocked his head, seeing Lestrade enter the chaotic hallway. Immediately, there was a surge of pleasure, smugness, all of which he wanted Lestrade to see. Moriarty saw the tiredness in the man's eyes, along the bags that formed under them. Did he lay awake each night in wait for their game? Moriarty also observed the obvious anger, and ferocity; he'd almost made it intimidating. Anger will only lead to recklessness... he thought sighing.

"I do...very much. I wished you'd find this game fun...if only you weren't one of them." Moriarty stressed the word "them". He was referring to the unintelligent. To the followers and not leaders. They were the boring and dull and had only one use to him. To provide entertainment.

"Now what you have to do is rather simple, even for a Scotland Yard detective; solve the murder. If you don't, let's just say, this will happen again."

Lestrade sighed. Frustrated and annoyed at all the screams and the occasional gasp that was going around the room.

"Alright! Everyone, SHUT UP!" Lestrade yelled. He had to yell a few times, slowly but surely grabbing his colleague's attentions. Everything and everyone had gone deathly silent. People had parted on either side of the body, allowing him to walk up to it.

He next turned to Anderson, "Anders, shut this place down. It's going to be a lockdown. No one gets in and no one gets out. Understood?"

Lestrade had addressed the last part to all of them, a muttering went around as Greg hurried back to his desk, pulling out a pack of latex gloves, putting on a pair.

Sherlock wasn't here to help…John wasn't there either…this was going to be tough. Lestrade shook his head, rubbing his eyes and re-approached the body. There were clear stab wounds around the body, he traced each one with a finger, one directly on the heart…but it was, "Post-mortem. The wounds were inflicted after this person had died…"

It had increased in difficultly and the silence became unbearable. "Alright, talk amongst yourselves but no louder." Sally approached him, asking what she could do to help but Lestrade shook his head, pacing around the body.

Time was beating down on him, he knew that this was going to happen again and again if he didn't do it in a set time limit, his hand shook ever so slightly. His nerves were going…that wasn't a good sign.

He opened the man's mouth, his gut telling him that there must have been something inside, but there was not. Without Molly's help, he would not be able to check whether this man had any poisons within his system. But it wouldn't exactly be going against what Moriarty had set him.