between everything, yourself, and home;

[workaphilic]

Who: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes
What: THE GAME IS ON.
When: June 10th
Where: Running around town.
Rating: PG?? No more than PG-13

Moriarty delivers, if nothing else.

Ask and ye shall receive.

He's not oblivious; he's aware of the mess he's created. It was the (only) solution to his (eternal) problem. But he's better, now. He doesn't make the same mistakes twice.

It's early enough that the air is still light; it's cool for a summer morning. He needs to act quickly, solve this while he still has the benefit of time. (Kind of Jim, to give him advance notice.) The residents are stupid but they aren't slow. (Replays the song in his head, note for note.)

Time constraint makes it better. He feels more alive now than he has in months. (Think, think!)

"Oh."

Just like that, there it is. (The problem: simple. The solution: elegant.) Turn the puzzle on its side and there it is, startling in its clarity.

He can't say it, so he doesn't. He takes off down the street instead.

Comments

[confidente]

"Oh?" He isn't going to get an answer, he knows that much. Sherlock is in one of moods--no moods isn't the right way to put it. He's more alive, more here, more focused. Running life his life (their lives) depends on it.

John's not dumb, he can guess how this happened. Months of no cases, not even the slightest hint of something that would get them both running around, and then this? His suspicions are only confirmed when he hears the song.

Moriarty.

He made sure Sherlock knew how unhappy he was about the situation, made a very fine point about it. Then he came along anyway. It's always been like this; John and Sherlock, running around solving cases. Even when he knows it's likely to end badly. And this? It's going to end badly, there is no doubt in his mind to that.

You don't poke the master criminal with a tick and expect him to you escape again.

"Sherlock!" He has no trouble keeping up physically, it's mentally where he struggles. He may as well be leagues behind Sherlock right now. "Where are we going?!"

[workaphilic]

"Obvious, isn't it?"

He swings through a thin alleyway, up a side street. Better to come around the back. Could be the same MO, could be something entirely new. He doesn't have any way of knowing until he gets there.

(Fantastic.)

"Seems to be going through a phase, this fascination with children's stories. It's a message, a direction. Might as well have set us a map and circled the destination in red."

Their destination: high traffic, high profile. Bound to catch everyone's attention, townsperson and resident alike. (Flair for the dramatic.)

He takes them to the clock tower.

[confidente]

No, it's not obvious. Not to him. He decides not to snap, letting Sherlock explain (in his own way) the thing that is so very obvious to him but eludes John.

But then it hits him as they pass a particular street, one he tends to frequent a lot, and some of the pieces click into place. Sort of.

And it only makes his stomach sink.

"The clock tower, wonderful." He reaches behind himself, pulling the gun from the back of his jeans. Safety off, check the barrel, repeat motions far too familiar to him now. He isn't going to take any chances this time. Doubts he will need it, but it doesn't hurt to be careful.

[workaphilic]

"Isn't it?" Wonderful. He thinks so. (It is.)

He slinks around the side of the building. They don't have much of an audience, not this early in the morning, but that's bound to change in the next half hour or so. Better to avoid the front entrance. They're not here for a guided tour.

There's a maintenance entrance on the north side. Surest ticket to where they need to go, so he picks the lock, slips them inside.

It's easy, simple. (Too easy, too simple.) There's a catch, there always is, and he's eager to find it.

He gestures for John to follow him up the rusted metal stairway. Here's where the fun starts.

[confidente]

John follows without pause, keeping an eye on both Sherlock's back and the path behind them. Likely unnecessary, chances are nothing (or no one) is going to attack them from behind. He does it anyway.

It's took quiet, too easy. He doesn't like it.

Something feels off, makes his skin crawl uncomfortably and his blood race. As much as he doesn't like it he can't deny how much he has missed this, running, searching for the answer to some murder or riddle. The danger.

"This looks safe." Not at all like it could collapse underneath them at any moment.

[workaphilic]

Sherlock looks down, like he hadn't thought about it. (He had, but things like that aren't important to his conscious mind at this moment in time.)

"Seems structurally sound. For now." He swipes a finger along the underside of the hand railing as he goes. "Probably best not to put it under any extra stress."

He flashes a grin over his shoulder. Oh, this is excellent. "Can't make any promises, though."

[confidente]

"For now, he says." John can't help but roll his eyes as they continue to move up, though the speed no longer satisfies him. "Stop grinning and keep moving, then."

Really, he'd rather not fall to his death because Sherlock picked the rusty stairs instead of the safer ones.

[workaphilic]

He'll keep moving, but asking him to stop grinning is a bit much at this point. Couldn't, even if he wanted to. (Exciting!) He's practically buzzing, now.

(There will be a crash later, he's sure. Realization that it might be another three (six, nine) months before he gets this again. But right now it feels good enough that he doesn't care.)

He goes higher and higher, past several staff entrances to various parts of the tower. Moriarty wouldn't dare leave them off halfway. He means to impress. He'd want the most dramatic, the most visible stage available.

Nothing less than the very top.

[confidente]

The closer to the top they get the more uneasy John feels and the more excited he also gets. Can't help it. Sherlock infected him with all his grinning and danger.

"You hear that?" There's a sound, just on the edge of his hearing. Can't make it out to save his life, but it is there.

[workaphilic]

"Yes." It's nearly a whisper, while he pauses on the stairs to listen. "Too far to identify reliably." Just a moment, and then he's moving again -- quickly, but this time with more attention to stealth.

"Guess we'll have to get closer."

[confidente]

John matches almost instantly, movements quicker though quieter. The soldier in him is shining through with each passing second. He nods, sticking close.