They were running, which was nothing new. In fact, none of what was happening was anything new. Everywhere they had been led was somewhere they had been before. First they were led to where they had found the woman in the pink clothing the first case they had together. There were new scratches in the wood, which Sherlock only needed to examine for a few seconds to know where to go next.
They entered the building where the cab driver had taken Sherlock and presented him with two pills, one poison one benign. There was a sign hanging from a ceiling.
"Good work! You've got good memory," it said.
"Sherlock," John asked the detective as they looked around for clues, "this looks like a game. We're playing right into their hands. We've got to stop."
"No," Sherlock replied. "We need to keep going to get to the bottom of this. Look."
John walked over to where Sherlock was pointing. There was a body. It had a cloth draped over it, blood seeping through. A note was on top where there was no blood.
"You've got thirty minutes to find the next one, or it will look like this." Below the writing was strange symbol. But not completely strange.
Sherlock texted Lestrade to send an officer for the body before they charged off again.
"This person knows about our past cases a little too well," John remarked.
"Yes, John, so we need to go to an important location for that case," Sherlock replied.
"The museum."
They hopped in a cab and soon were at the museum. They searched everywhere. Nothing.
"The show," John murmured. Sherlock nodded and they were running through alleys to get there faster. Back to where they had seen the show, where Sarah had nearly lost her life, the worst first date John had ever had.
When they arrived they saw two people. A large burly man was holding a gun to the head of a young man who was much shorter and lankier.
"You were quick this time," the brute said. "With five minutes to spare. You're really as brilliant as they all say."
"Hand him over," John ordered.
"Of course!" the large man said enthusiastically. In one motion he pushed the young man forward and then threw something on the ground that created a cloud of smoke. Sherlock ran through the smoke after him while John went to the former hostage's aid. John took his name and called Lestrade to have someone come get him.
"He got away," Sherlock said, emerging from the cloud that was now beginning to dissipate.
"Where would he have gone?" John asked the detective.
"Where the next case ended," Sherlock said. In a moment they were off again, John assuring the young man that help was on the way, but that they could not stay with him. It felt irresponsible, but he was not going to let Sherlock go alone.
The clues had taken them to so many places they had been before, and now it finally took them to the pool, where another had culminated before. Sherlock and John ran inside and then halted a few feet from the pool to look around for who, or what, would be there to meet them, Sherlock holding his gun out in front of him.
Seemingly out of nowhere, the large burly man from earlier ran out and tackled Sherlock. The gun Sherlock has been holding up proved useless as the larger man wrapped his arms around the detective's neck, clearly intending to kill. Sherlock dropped the gun as he tried to wrench from the man's grip, the weapon clattering to the floor. John grabbed his own gun and aimed, trying to get at an angle where he could shoot, but there was no opportunity to be certain he wouldn't hit Sherlock. The two stumbled, locked together, eventually falling into the water. They remained at the surface at first. For a moment it look like Sherlock might get out of it on his own, but then the large man pulled him under.
John watched from the edge of the pool as Sherlock writhed under the water. When it wouldn't stop, John looked around the room. He saw no one there. He shoved his gun securely into its holster and dove in. Once under the water, he forced his eyes open, fighting the sting of the chlorine. He swam over behind the large man and got a firm hold around his neck. He squeezed with all his might, and the man let go of Sherlock. John managed to swim over the man who was now in a state of shock, kicking him in the head as he passed. John grabbed Sherlock, who was mostly limp, and started pulling him up for air. John was relieved to hear a gasp from his friend beside him when they reached the surface.
Sherlock's coat was heavy from being drenched in water, making it especially difficult for the final task of heaving him out of the water. With all the energy he had left in him, John lifted the detective out, making sure that Sherlock was lying safely on his side, before walking back over to the edge of the pool. The man who had tried to choke Sherlock was still safely at the bottom. Satisfied, John walked back over to the detective, who was now sitting in a more upright position, but still seemed dazed. John sat down in front of him and took off the detective's soaking wet coat, letting it rest in a heap on the floor next to them.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.
"You're soaked," John replied frankly.
"People will definitely talk," Sherlock teased weakly, a grin forming on his face. John returned it.
"I'm just glad you're safe," John said. For a moment, he no longer cared about the wetness – they were both wet anyway – and he leaned forward to embrace his friend, closing his eyes in relief that they had both made it. When John pulled back, Sherlock would not break his gaze, looking straight at John. Sherlock's hair looked even longer straightened out from the water, hanging over one eye. He tossed his head to the side to get a better view. How glad John was to still be able to see those bright eyes looking back at him could not be expressed. Sherlock had given him his life back those years ago, and he knew it would be gone if the detective was, too.
John let out a sigh and smiled back at Sherlock. They had done it; Sherlock solved the case and John saved Sherlock's life once again.