Disclaimer : Nothing belongs to me ! No, not even the sandy golden beaches of Malta... *sighs*
Author's note : Happy birthday Charlie ! I hope you like this piece. :-D
Greg willed himself to relax. Sun, sand, sea—total relaxation. So why couldn't he let go ? What was that trick Kiara had tried to teach him ? Oh yeah... "Experience your surroundings fully, one sense at a time." He closed his eyes.
Smell : salty air, sunscreen, greasy fast-food...
Hearing : children at play, conversations, waves crash... "Coooooocooooo ! Cooooooooooocooooo !"
And the beachfront vendor selling his wares. "Not exactly relaxation inducing", he chuckled to himself.
He slowly opened his eyes, letting his gaze wander, taking in the bright spots of color on an otherwise golden landscape... "Sh..."
His heart skipped a bit, then started hammering in his chest. Sitting up, he tried to focus on the familiar silhouette emerging from the sea. The hair was different. Brown, with a hint of ginger. And the man was wearing sunglasses, but.. That vast expanse of pale skin, the snug blue swimming trunks, the hint of a smile that highlighted his cheekbones...
"He just looks like him. That's all." And yet... The man was leisurely walking on the sand now, moving towards the left. Greg felt strangely compelled to follow. "Just to make sure. Otherwise I'll never be able to put it out of my mind," he told himself, not unreasonable.
From a safe distance, the DI looked on as the man quickly dried himself with a towel, got dressed, then started walking towards the busy streets.
He was so engrossed in his tailing that he didn't immediately realize he'd been led into a back alley. Nervously, he looked around and too late felt a strong arm going around his torso, and a second holding a blade to his throat.
"Where did he hid his knife in those swimming trunks ?" was Greg's first absurd thought, before he rasped out :
"Sherlock ?"
The first arm tightened his hold, but the second seemed to loosen a little.
"Stop following me."
"How did you..."
The blade pressed harder into his neck, nearly drawing blood.
"You're going to ruin everything !" the familiar voice hissed. "Tonight. Your hotel room. I'll explain."
Greg nodded, and the pressure disappeared. So did Sherlock. "How will you... Oh... Nevermind." Shaking his head, Greg checked his wallet. Sure enough : his hotel room keycard was missing. Smiling, he slowly made his way into a nearby restaurant. He felt quite hungry, all of a sudden.