Okay, so I thought I might assault the Sherlock fandom with my presence given that I've burned through my inspiration for pretty much everything else I'm into. And since I clearly can't sustain a multi-chapter story for more than a few days before I get bored, I've decided I'd better stick to one-shots. This is the first.

John puffed and panted, struggling to keep up. He had a fair amount of stamina, but this was ridiculous. Sherlock streaked ahead with ease as John stumbled behind. It had been almost an hour and they were running out of London. His heart was going to give out before they caught the killer currently in front of them.

And then, as if Sherlock had read his thoughts, he stopped dead. John almost ran into him, halting just in time. He took a step back as Sherlock whirled around.

"We need transport."

"You've just figured that out?" John wheezed.

"Cabs are too slow. What can we use?" He began turning on the spot, scanning the street. John took a quick look himself and saw something Sherlock had to have already seen.

"Sherlock, those bikes."

"No good."

"We'll easily catch him on those."

"No good."

John sighed in frustration. Not an easy feat when he was struggling to breathe as it was.

"Sherlock-"

"I said no good!"

"Why not?"

"I can't ride!"

There was a short silence. John snorted.

"What?"

"No matter. Call Lestrade. I already know where the killer's headed."

"No, wait. You haven't learned how to ride a bike?"

"John, this isn't the time."

John ignored Sherlock. "Why not?"

"Useless. Now please, call Lestrade."

John stood beside Sherlock, quietly observing as Lestrade's men took the killer away in handcuffs.

"So... can't ride, eh?"

"John..."

"The great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know how to ride a bike."

"No."

"How come?"

"I told you. Useless."

John gave his friend a sideways look, examining his unreadable eyes and clenched jaw.

"That's not true."

"What?" Sherlock turned to John. "Of course it is."

"No." John shook his head, smirking slightly. "What really happened? Mycroft kept pushing you off?"

The look on Sherlock's face made John laugh.

"He did, didn't he?"

"No." The answer was in the tone of his voice. John supressed another snort of mirth. Sherlock gave him a look of pure disgust. "Let's go home."

"Fine. But there's somewhere we should go first."

Sherlock looked down at the bike John was propping up. His gaze drifted to the expanse of fields stretching before them and then back to the bike.

"No."

"Come on Sherlock. You know this is something you need to learn."

"No it's not."

"I promise, it's easy. As soon as you get on, you'll know how to do it."

"I don't doubt it, but the fact remains that I have managed perfectly fine until now. I don't see any reason why the rest of my life shouldn't go so smoothly."

"Just a quick ride. So you can get the feel of it."

"John, this is preposterous. I am a grown man..."

"So that will make it easier. You won't fall over."

"I'm not afraid of falling over."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Sherlock didn't answer. John smirked.

"The world's only consulting detective. Too scared to ride a bike."

Sherlock gave him a look that could wilt even the most robust flower and then seized the bicycle, coat tails flapping as he mounted it. Almost angrily, he pushed off, feet finding the pedals hesitantly. For a moment he wobbled, barely moving, but then he picked up speed.

"See? Easy."

Sherlock's feet stomped down on the floor, stopping the bike. He looked back at John.

"Happy now? Can we go?"

"Absolutely." John nodded. "So long as we cycle home."

Grinning at Sherlock's annoyance, John picked up his own bike and mounted it. With a small chuckle, he pushed off and pedalled toward his quite-possibly ex-best friend. Sherlock waited with a positively murderous expression.

"Revenge, John Watson. Expect revenge."

And with that, he cycled off tentatively, leaving John to follow behind, laughing freely as he wobbled about.

So that was it. Did you enjoy it? I hope so.

Until next time! :).