It was one of the seldom occasions when it was quiet in 221B Baker Street. John was typing on his computer, writing his blog. Currently he was finishing a report of their last case. The blog writing still had a soothing, calming effect on John, even thought it got somewhat more stessy and purposeful because he know so many people were reading it. John was aware that every word, espeically what he said about Sherlock and their "friendship" (that still everybody seemed to believe was more than that), was carefully read by a thousand eyes, analyzed, even quoted in some papers.
Sherlock sat on the sofa, his long legs swung over the armrest, staring at the kitchen wall on the other side of the room. Except John's typing, it was quiet.
"Sherlock, stop running, will ya?" John shouted. They were hurrying through London. It was a summer evening, almost nine o'clock, the sun was setting. "We have to find it before it gets dark!" Sherlock cried back, using his long legs to step out as wide as he could. "We don't have time till tomorrow!"
They ran across a street, attempting to enter Covent Garden. Sherlock was going as fast as he could, John was jogging behind his friend. Sherlock was furious. How could he let this happen? Why didn't he find the solution earlier? This particular piece of information had slipped his mind all afternoon, yet it was so easy! Sherlock brushed away a few stray locks and ruffled his hair. He looked at this phone. It was still half a kilometre until their final destination, through Covent Garden on uneven ground. They were never going to make it! If the light was gone, everything was lost.
While Sherlock hurried on, John managed to catch up to him. "Has it loaded now?" he asked. "Do we know where we have to go?" Sherlock nodded and looked at his phone once more, zooming in. "The Peter Pan statue." he said. "That's where it's going to be."
John nodded and together they hurried even more, now both jogging along the sea of Covent Garden.
"Are you sure we will succeed?" John asked. Sherlock frowned. "One mistake could ruin everything." the growled. "All the work, all the mind-shattering riddles."
"But there won't be any." John tried to assure him. "You never made a mistake." Sherlock slowly shook his head and pointed at the sun. It was almost gone by now.
"Oh, bollocks, we're never gonna get there!" John scoffed. Now they passed a gate and crossed a small street again. They were in the right deparment of the park now. Only two hundred metres left. Sherlock started to run. He could hear John trampling behind him, but the rush of wind and the adrenaline in his veins blurred out everything. This was it, what the loved the most. Solving riddles, succeeding. He wasn't going to let this get ruined by the sun.
He passed a small fence and almost tripped over the low gate that surrounded the statue. With two big steps he reached it and began examining it. John came after him and started to look around closely. "Oh God, I forgot my torch!" John cried out in frustration.
"No need for it, I got it." with his trained look, Sherlock had spotted their goal. He retrieved a small box from under a bush, brushed some mud away and opened it. He breathed in and out, letting the contentment fill his body. He had just solved the hardest mystery geocache in all of London.