Improbable, Impossible, Implausible

Remember the time when we stole the whole day?
And nobody knows it, we took it away,
And it will be forever mine,
And it will be forever yours
Now we own the night, and it can't be undone,
We'll never forget how it feels to be young,
Cause it will be forever mine,
And it will be forever yours

Alex Day – Forever Yours

She ran.

She had no choice. Naturally.

She ran faster and further until the alleyways all blended into one and she was left sprinting around the backstreets of London City Centre. The Toad was not far behind her, she could tell that much without even looking. If she wasn't so level headed, she could've sworn that was his breath against her neck; that the abandoned bin bag she stumbled over in the dark was actually his hand reaching out to snatch at her ankle, sending her tumbling to the ground and into his grasp. Though she was obviously not unnerved by the possibility, she put on an extra burst of speed, dashing through the maze of back gardens and streets.

She knew where she was going. She just had to lose him.

To any passers-by, she just looked like a regular young woman running for something, a bus maybe, but that was only because they were too ignorant to think anything else of it. To anyone else, anyone observant enough to notice the way she refused to slow down to catch her breath and the way she kept looking over her shoulder as she sprinted down the street, she was being followed.

She took a shortcut through Portman Square, knowing that she could save time by going through the trees, rather than running around the park. Without bothering to wait for the traffic to slow, she sprinted across the road, ignoring the driver of the car who was now feverishly honking at his car horn in a futile attempt to knock some sense into her. She cringed, knowing that if he didn't already know which route she had taken, he would by now. The Toad would have heard that car horn from as far away as Seymour Street. She pressed on, knowing that every second would count until she could get away.

They were both sat in the window seat of Il Baretto, John having once again forced Sherlock to go out and eat. Partly because the oven was out of order due to one of Sherlock's ongoing experiments, and partly because they had just tied up a rather difficult case and he was too exhausted to even attempt to cook, let alone shove the food down Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock was sat quietly examining any people who caught his eye and was absentmindedly calling out specific details about their lives – that woman clearly preferred one of her children over the other, that man in the corner was a closet homosexual, and that waitress there was secretly self harming herself. It was John who first noticed her. Though Sherlock had always sat in the window seat of a restaurant in order to keep tabs on things happening outside, usually criminals, it was John who first noticed something odd. Deep down he did feel like he had achieved something; he'd noticed something before the great Sherlock Holmes. As he shovelled crab linguine into his mouth, he leaned over the table and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder, gesturing through the window with his thumb.

"I see nothing of interest..."

"Sherlock, look."

The damp patch of sweat on the back of her blouse, the way her hand occasionally clamped over her side as she tried to stifle the cramp of stitch and the way she was breathing heavily suggested that she was overexerting herself. But there was something else, something he was missing. She showed no signs of slowing, and her eyes were constantly jumping from side to side as if she was expecting someone to sneak up on her. With a quick glance down a nearby alleyway, she slipped into it quietly and she was away again, sprinting for her life.

Without so much as a word to John he jumped up from his seat, and sped out of the restaurant, leaving him to pay the bill. He could always pay him back later. John shot his roommate a baffled look and got up to follow him, throwing some notes onto the table in his hurry. Sherlock had already disappeared down the alley by the time he caught up with him. The pursuit was on. Suddenly they came slipping to a halt on a muddy patch. The young woman was waiting in front of them, bent over double and panting heavily. At the far end of the alley, a dark shape waited.

"Sherlock Holmes I assume?" She muttered quietly.

"How-" John began, but Sherlock cut him off.

"No time to explain."

There was a moment's silence, before the dark shape started to move slowly towards them.

"Shit!" She cursed, hopping up on to a wheely bin and pulling herself onto a low roofed building. "Follow me. Quickly." The two men below her deliberated for a second before gunshots rang out behind them. Sherlock shook himself back into consciousness and leapt for the roof. She clutched his forearm and pulled him up beside her, them both reaching down to heave John to safety. There was silence once more.

"Hurry."

And then she was gone.