Shoes skid on wet pavement and puffs of cold air emitted from the two standing figures, small translucent mushroom clouds in a dark London street. The criminal had seemed to make a snap decision before he ran, and Sherlock Holmes knew what it was: fight or flight? At least this criminal was smart, he thought - fighting would have been a very bad choice, considering that John Watson had been running up to them from twenty feet away. Flight was easier for the criminal, though harder for the chasers. But Sherlock ran swiftly after him, trusting that John would catch up eventually.

The criminal turned off of the busy street into an alleyway, probably thinking he could lose the pale man on his tail. But Sherlock was as fast, if not faster, as any criminal, and he could always figure out where they would go. The only thing different about this criminal was that he was unarmed, and his pockets were lined with illegal substances.

The criminal still had them running through a network of alleyways, and Sherlock noticed the man was beginning to panic - perhaps he had realized that he wouldn't escape. He was looking every which way, turning his torso every now and then, tripping over his own feet. Suddenly he put his head down and ran right, into another alley. Sherlock followed him, then stopped.

It was unexpected, to say the least. Sherlock, of course, was a little more used to having guns trained on him than most people, so he supposed that might have been an understatement in some cases. The only thing that surprised about it, though, was that he had been wrong about the criminal being unarmed. The man was now at the dead-end of the alley he had chosen, and was pointing his pistol at Sherlock's chest.

Theoretically, Sherlock could dive behind the skip five feet forward and to the right, but if the armed man had good aim, he'd be in trouble. The same type of problem would apply to running out of the alley or charging the man to possibly catch him off guard (unlikely.) Sherlock could also try to reason with him - bribe him, talk him down, bargain with him - but he wasn't good at that sort of thing. That was more John's area.

Speaking of John, thought Sherlock, putting his hands up, where in the world -

The night exploded with sound. He watched as a bit of blood spurted from the criminal's shoulder, on the same side that had held the gun, and the man fell to his knees with a shout of pain. Sherlock turned around, and there was John.

"Ah, John," said the taller man. "You're late."

John gave him a look, letting his left hand fall back down to his side. "Lucky I'm even here, don't you think?" he said, a little incredulous of the situation. "What would you have done if I hadn't of been right behind you?"

Sherlock chose not to pay attention, but instead to check his surroundings and ensure that he knew where they were.

John rolled his eyes at the detective and huffed. "Can we call the police now?"

"Yes, yes." Sherlock waved him away, backing up as his eyes glued themselves to a fifth-story window. The curtains were checkered green, and stood out from the rest of the windows on the building - from the windows in the whole area, even. Unmistakable. "That's the room up there," he muttered.

John had his phone out and was waiting for the other end to pick up. He regarded Sherlock's observations with a quick glance, then turned away as a woman's voice answered. "Yes, my colleague and I have just caught a criminal… The one who's been breaking into families' homes for their, uh, medications and such… Yes…"

"That's the room where he bludgeoned the teenager for his pain pills," Sherlock continued, brow furrowing and eyes darting between the particular window and the weak criminal down the way. "Why run to this alleyway? Coincidence? No. No, there's a reason, that's why he didn't shoot me immediately."

"Yes, we're fine. All under control… Right, thanks," John finished and hung up, then turned back around. Sherlock was no longer there. He looked around, panicked at first - what's he done now? - before he spotted him climbing up a fire escape. "Wha- where are you going?"

"There's someone up there that he was trying to get to," Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he went up as quick as he could. He had to catch the person before they were gone, but he feared it might already be too late. They would have heard the gunshot, after all.

"Sherlock!" shouted John, but he didn't know quite why he felt the need to do it. He'd have to stay on the ground and keep an eye on the thief until the police showed up. Could be hours, he thought bitterly.

It only took a little over five minutes for Sherlock to reach the ground again, at which point sirens could be heard in the distance. He dropped from the bottom of the fire escape to the ground, face hard and brows still furrowed.

"Well?" John inquired.

"They'd already gone," he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets for warmth. Their breaths were still visible.

"Any idea where they went?"

"Haven't a clue."

John chuckled as the first few cops arrived, assessed the two flat mates, and then rushed by to retrieve the criminal. "That's a first."

Sherlock shot him a look, but smirked at John's smiling face. "…Hungry?"

"Mocha coffee, extra espresso, please," said the woman to the barista. "And large." She pulled out her wallet from her bag and handed over the exact amount once the girl had rung her up.

"I'll be right on it," the girl said cheerily, then turned to make the coffee.

The woman leaned on her other leg and stuck a hand in her pocket, using this time to simply people-watch. There was a nerdy couple in the corner chatting about their university classes, a skinny teenage girl next to the window who seemed to have been stood up for a date, and a boy with black-rimmed glasses and a biker's jacket who was eyeing the woman up when he thought she didn't notice. She sighed. Not the most interesting crowd today.

Her left hand tightened on the strap of her bag. At least the café wasn't crowded, which meant less chance of getting interrupted (unless the jacket-boy worked up the gall to do so.)

"Here you are," the barista said, handing her her coffee. She took it gladly. "Have a nice day!"

She nodded in response, then retreated to the corner farthest from the door, next to a large window, and sat with her back to the wall. The coffee burned her tongue sweetly as she sipped it, and woke her up almost immediately. For a moment she just relaxed, letting the hot cup warm her hands, before she dug out her laptop from inside her bag and set it up.

She took another sip as her password registered. As soon as everything had loaded, a chat box popped up on the screen.

xvalkyrieburns: So you're awake now.

She glanced around the café out of habit, making sure that nobody was paying too much attention to her, before she IM'ed back.

x2081LIA: Yes. How has your day been?

While she waited for a response, she opened up Word and began to type up her accounting report. It was two lines long when the IM tab began to blink.

xvalkyrieburns: I'm not in the mood, darling. We're way understaffed and swimming in jobs that need doing. Come to the office, now.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and looked up instead. Jacket-boy was staring at her intently, and when he noticed her looking his way, he gave her a nod and a devious look. She looked away and began typing again.

x2081LIA: I'm typing up an AR. I'll go to work when I'm done, alright?

She'd typed up another two lines before a shadow filled her peripheral vision. She snapped her eyes upward. There stood jacket-boy, who leaned on her table with one arm as she sipped her coffee pointedly.

"Hey," he said, charming. "You look lonely. Mind if I join you?"

"I should look busy to you," she retorted, "not lonely. And yes, I mind."

Her IM tab blinked as the boy said, "Not so friendly, huh? Is it the jacket or the jeans? 'Cause I can be rid of either of those easy enough, if it'll make you feel more comfortable."

xvalkyrieburns: Insubordination can result in a pay cut, if you wish. Come to the office now, Ross.

x2081LIA: You're in luck. Café got crowded. On my way.

Without another glance at the boy, she gathered up her laptop and shoved it into her bag, then grabbed her coffee and made to leave.

"Wait, I'm sorry, I just-"

There was a hand gripping her arm a little too firmly for comfort. She shook it off harshly and threw over her shoulder, "Don't touch me."

"I didn't mean to-"

The glass door shut with a bang behind her.

Office life truly was particularly dull. Sherlock wondered how these people could stand it, and then wondered why they didn't bother to use their heads to full capacity. It had to be so boring to be any less intelligent than he was.

"Don't you think you're being a bit overdramatic?"

Sherlock broke his attention away from the tedium that surrounded him, and latched it onto John. "Overdramatic?"

"Yeah, you're just standing there huffing and sighing at every little thing you look at," said John.

"Look around, John. Do you think these people understand how boring their lives are? Do you think they see how utterly stupid they are?" Sherlock glared at Lestrade's secretary.

John seemed exasperated, but at the same time mesmerized by his flat mate. "Not everyone has your brain, Sherlock."

"No one has my brain, John. No one even comes close." He couldn't help but huff once more. "Irksome."

"Oh, come on. You like that everyone else is an idiot," John said, then chuckled.

Sherlock smirked as Lestrade finally came out of the interrogation room. The man ran a hand through his hair tiredly, mumbled some order to his secretary, and then let his eyes fall upon the detective and the doctor now leaning upon an unoccupied desk.

"You," he started, stepping up to them and pointing a finger at Sherlock, "need to learn to stop taking matters into your own hands. It's dangerous, you know - that's what the police are for."

"The criminal would have been long gone had we simply called you," Sherlock intoned. "Shouldn't you be thanking us?"

Lestrade stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed and arms crossed, before he begrudgingly consented. "Yeah, fine, thank you, but you could at least try to stay out of trouble, yeah?"

John smirked as Sherlock suppressed a chuckle. "We could," he agreed.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Alright, look - I won't make the two of you give me statements if you do me a favor."

Sherlock raised a brow.

"There's been a murder."

The taller of the three gave the impression of immediate boredom. "There's always a murder in London. I'm sure you can handle it, Inspector."

"It was a young man, some journalist, and there's something suspicious about this one. It just came in, but the kid was murdered yesterday morning."

Sherlock said nothing, still utterly uninterested.

"A buddy of his was murdered a month ago and the crime scene is five blocks down from your flat."

Sherlock's brow line rose.

John chimed in before Sherlock could try and convince himself that it wasn't significant. "We'll check it out."