Ionait looked over the scene with mild irritation and much amusement; irritation because there were far more officers then she intended and amusement because the members of Scotland Yard around herself failed to recognize her as she glided away from the glaringly yellow crime scene tape that separated the public from the murder victims. The lower members she could dismiss, they had never seen her, but the head inspector…what his name, Ah Yes- Lestrade, he had met her just a couple years ago along with his two deputies and she knew he had gotten a good look at her face. She had been the 'victim' at the time, a terrified 13-year-old girl found in the middle of a bank heist; of course she had been there on purpose, wanting to see if her father's idea panned out and to see if the bait worked. She had seen him work his web over London with awe, helping when she could, and also watched his growing obsession with Sherlock Holmes-this not with awe but some dread.

She felt at times like she might be losing his attention to a man who would want to take her father from her or worse, kill him; she didn't admit out loud the frivolous and petty emotions to anyone, just let them seethe within her. She knew her uncle suspected but he kept quiet, the only sign he knew she was upset was the strong grip he would hold her shoulder with at meetings, never leaving her side, unless to go to her father.

But at times like now, she couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face, because she knew she would have all her father's attention when she got home. Her first successful kill and one where she had not lifted a finger to end a single life; no no no, they did that all on their own- of course her silver tongue helped, not that anyone was around to tell the good inspector this. So, clad in her designer dress, flashy hair-do and far-too-high-heels, Ionait walked calmly away from the murder scene, just in time to see a cabby stop on her left and release the previously mentioned detective and his live-in pet. Both, of course, watched as she strutted past them, her eyes made to look like they were on her phone but watching their every move. It felt like a movie to her, that moment, like it was played out in slow motion; their door closed behind them as their eyes watched her, Sherlock's lips pressed thin as he processed her, Watson vaguely confused by her presence.

She knew she looked older then she was-that had been the plan- and knew it was already playing mind games with the detective; she and he had met on several random occasions, only a few being crime scenes, the rest ordinary events: anywhere from getting lunch at the restaurant below their flat, coffee at a random café, she had had a 'date' at his favorite Italian diner, & she'd been spotted by him walking in Hyde Park and around the London Eye. All while she was dressed her age, jeans and tee shirts with trainers that made her cringe; but never like this with the mature clothes and hairstyle. She flashed them both a smile that she knew resembled her father before continuing on, the movie scene moment passed as sound rushed back to normal, her phone pinging in her hands.

'Well done little dove. Now, come home, you have a visitor whose dying to see you.'

Ionait's smile widened until she felt her cheeks hurt. That meant a certain little red weasel had finally poked his head out and would get to have some fun. With a soft crack, she disappeared on the spot with an embellished twirl, appearing in front of her father.

"Dove, I hope you aren't tired after today's events." He said this while tucking a stray hair behind her ear, eyes bright.

"Of course not father, I failed to break a sweat." Her reply was accentuated by her wicked smile, which mirrored his, while turning her attention towards the bound redhead.

"Ah, I see you caught a rat father mine." Moving until she hovered over Ronald, who glared up at her, she smirked. "Nice to see you Weasel, been looking for you for ages." Tilting his chin up when he tried to look away, her smirk darkened. "I owe you for the scar on my back, thankfully Fred and George promised to look for you, since I would be busy." Patting his cheek, she stood back, locking eyes with her uncle over her father's shoulder, a subtle nod to him sending the sniper out to observe her previous location.

"Well dove, whatever shall we do with him?" Her father's voice was bouncy, feeding her own energy.

"I'm thinking…we start with a little good old fashion torture. He did ruin my best dress father."

In unison, both Moriarty faces light up with matching glee before turning to face the now frozen redhead. He paled as he took in the malice filled looks they were giving him, tremors building rapidly. A flick of Ionait's wrist had his chair floating before it began a slow decent backwards.

"Lie back and think of England, Mr Weasley, maybe the motherland will bring you peace."

A/N: Ok, SO sorry about any delay with this. I hit a wall and didn't want to throw rubbish at your inboxes just to produce content; this is how past stories have died with me and I didn't wish for this to occur again. I hope you like it and as always, reviews full the soybean that tis i.