John and Sherlock tore around the corner and flung themselves against the wall, trying to silence their breathing.
"I think," John said, between gasps, "we beat him out of the building. Good job you spotted that staff corridor."
"Yes, well." Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Less spectacular than clambering up an elevator shaft, but catching criminals rarely demands such histrionics when you actually think."
"They're entertainment, Sherlock, not crime-solving tutorials."
"How is it entertaining to watch some hyper-muscular idiot bash his way through the criminal underworld by brute force?"
John rolled his eyes. "So sorry his methods weren't up to snuff. Not everybody can be Sherlock Holmes, can they."
Sherlock only sniffed.
"Besides, you'd hate that," John continued. "If there were –"
He put the rest of that thought on hold when Sorenson burst out of the side door, spotted them, and bolted. They pelted after him, across the road and into the alley opposite. John reached the alley in time to see Sorenson leap from atop a bin to the fire escape and scramble toward the roof. Sherlock sprang to the bin, but it shifted beneath him and he pitched sideways, landing in an ungainly heap.
John abandoned that chase and trotted over to offer his friend a hand up. "It's okay," he said magnanimously. "Not everyone can be James Bond."