A.N: Another one! I really enjoyed this one, please don't pick faults with my attempted deduction, I tried my best but I'm no Moffat : ) Enjoy, thanks for looking!

PS: Thank you to everybody who's reviewed so far! I love hearing what you think - again, any requests would be awesome.

The next time Sherlock announced he was bored, it was in rather an odd situation.

John and Sherlock were running for their lives; quite literally, unfortunately. John's army stamina helped him to keep up with Sherlock's brisk running pace, so the two were pretty much neck and neck as they bolted towards the only exit of a twenty storey building: the fire escape.

Long story short; Sherlock had discovered a nest of criminals hiding in central London, and he'd gone to try and confront them himself. Because he'd been bored for two days, and going to threaten a group of dangerous criminals would certainly destroy any remnants of boredom.

Of course, John had figured out Sherlock's plan about five minutes after the consulting detective disappeared, and the two had ended up in a bit of an awkward situation as John tried to talk his way out of trouble, while Sherlock had a gun pressed to the back of his neck.

To cut a very long story short, they had escaped, and now they were running.

'Fire escape, fire escape!' John yelled at nobody as they barrelled towards it. Behind them, John could hear guns being loaded and readied for when the ringleader, as it were, gave word to kill them.

'Getting that, thank you John,' Sherlock replied breathlessly as he barrelled into the handle of the escape. The door flew open, and behind them the bullets were unleashed. The pair just managed to duck behind the door before the onslaught began.

'Run?' John asked, from the other side of the door as Sherlock.

'I'd imagine so!' Sherlock replied, bolting for the stairs. John took the other side of stairs, and the two rushed down at top speed as the armed gang persued them.

'John!' Sherlock shouted over the bullet fire.

'Not now, Sherlock!' John shouted back as they turned a corner and sprinted down a very long corridor.

'Can we play Guess Who again?' Sherlock yelled back.

Before John could reply, another round of bullets was fired at their backs, and Sherlock made a strange hissing sound as they turned the corner and continued running.

'Did they get you?' John demanded as they raced down another two flights of stairs.

'Just a scrape,' Sherlock replied. 'Can we play Guess Who again?' he demanded again as they turned another corner and found the most blissful sight - a lift.

'In, in, get in!' John yelled frantically. The two pushed madly against the call button, hearing the sound of footsteps quickly approaching from behind.

'Oh for god's sakes,' Sherlock muttered, pressing the button one more time. The lift doors opened with a soft ping.

The two practically dove in, and Sherlock hurriedly pressed the button for the ground floor. There was a slight delay, before the doors began to slide closed at snail pace.

The two men pushed against the doors from either side, trying to close them faster as the quickest members of the gang appeared from around the corner. For a moment, everything seemed to grow silent, and then -

The doors closed all of the way, and the lift began to move down jauntily.

'Phew,' Sherlock muttered. John sank down onto the carpet, looked up at his friend.

The two were silent for a moment, before they started laughing nervously. The laughter lasted for a couple of minutes, before John calmed down and said:

'Yes Sherlock, I'll play Guess Who again.'

Sherlock and John arrived back at Baker Street late that night. Lestrade had insisted that Sherlock was patched up after being sort of shot, and so they hadn't been able to get back to Baker Street as soon as they'd liked.

Mrs Hudson had ordered some Chinese food for them, and the three ate in companionable silence. It was a nice moment, familiar. Sherlock's eyes darted around Mrs. Hudson's living room at top speed, analysing everything faster than John could blink.

After a few moments, the consulting detective spoke up.

'John,' he said. 'I'm bored.'

'How can you possibly be bored after everything that happened today?' John replied.

Sherlock shrugged, finished the prawn cracker he'd been chewing.

'Back shortly,' Sherlock said. He stood up and disappeared.

John connected the dots in an instant, and he buried his face in his hands.

'Are you alright, dear?' Mrs Hudson asked. 'Long day?'

'No,' John murmured. 'Watch.'

A moment later, Sherlock raced back into the room.

In one hand, the Guess Who board gleamed in the dim lighting.

Sherlock grinned and set the box down on the table. John sighed but smiled slightly; he'd promised, after all.

The following day was a Sunday, and so John slept in. He got up at eleven and made a quick brunch. Sherlock had gone somewhere, apparently; he often disappeared at random points during the week, and never told John where he'd been.

The previous night, Sherlock and John had played Guess Who three times, and John had won every single time. Sherlock thought that it was a stupid game, and said so many times, though he continued to rematch John every time he lost. At a quarter to midnight, John went to bed and locked his door so that Sherlock wouldn't appear in the middle of the night, demanding another game of Guess Who.

Just as John was finishing his spaghetti loops, the door of 221B opened, and a very triumphant looking Sherlock entered.

'You alright?' John asked. 'Where've you been?'

'Out!' Sherlock replied. 'Thrashing Mrs Hudson at Guess Who!' he added proudly.

John nodded. 'Of course you have.'

'I'll prove it,' Sherlock said, oozing pride. He produced the game boards from nowhere, and chose his own card carefully. John skeptically picked up a different card and pocketed it, making sure that Sherlock wouldn't be able to see it.

'Is it male or female?' Sherlock demanded, before John had even set up his own board.

'Male,' he replied.

'Glasses?' Sherlock asked.

'Is yours male or female?' John asked, ignoring Sherlock's previous question.

'Female,' Sherlock responded. 'Answer mine.'

'Yes, glasses,' John said.

'It's Stephen,' Sherlock said at once. John looked quietly surprised, but he wasn't too stunned. Sherlock couldn't bear to be anything other than the best at things, so it figured that he would have studied the game board for hours.

'Well done,' John said.

'Yes!' Sherlock shouted enthusiastically. He jumped into the air and then settled back on his sofa, gazing up at the ceiling.

John looked warily at his friend; he had a sickening feeling that he knew what was coming.

'I'm bored,' Sherlock said.

It was the middle of the afternoon when John had a brainwave about how he was going to entertain Sherlock. He was out in Tescos buying milk, more tea, and some eggs, oddly enough. John grabbed a packet of custard creams on his way to the checkout, and then texted Sherlock as he walked down towards Trafalgar Square.

Meet me at Trafalgar Square in ten. -JW

The reply was almost instant.

Better not be boring. -SH

John walked back up Whitehall, past Downing Street and found himself at Trafalgar Square in seven minutes exactly. He sat down on the edge of the fountain and waited for Sherlock's black billowing coat to appear through the crowds of people.

'What are we doing here?' Sherlock's voice asked from behind him.

'Something that isn't boring,' John replied. 'I thought... Seeing as you find 221B so boring at the moment, you could do some deductions here instead.'

Sherlock's mouth turned up at the corner. He was surprised that John would go to the trouble to find something as complicated as this for him to do.

'What about her?' Sherlock said immediately, spying a businesswoman who was walking past a few metres away. 'She's wearing Designer Shoes, brand new; clearly a gift. Manicured nails, bright red; she likes to make a statement, clearly, but they're chipped - money's tight, she hasn't been able to afford to have them done for a while; a week, probably. Then there's the suit that she's wearing; clearly expensive, probably designer too; difficult to tell from here. But look, it's old and fraying around the sleeves; she picks at the threads when she's nervous, quite a lot too it seems. And it's old, look at the pattern; not quite the style that she'd like; not modern enough to suit her tastes. She's worried about her mother; the shoes were a gift from her -'

'How can you know that?' John demanded. It wasn't quite the game he'd had in mind, but he wasn't going to cut Sherlock off mid deduction.

'Her Mother's a widow; she barely knew her Father. He was part of the navy; look, look! She's wearing a badge promoting the navy; several badges, it's something close to her heart. But he died in battle, probably; left herself and her mother with little to no money; that's why she's short on cash at the moment; she's been donating to the charities that look after those left behind - how do I know it was her Father who died? Look, the shoes John, the shoes are designer, it's rare to find a man who knows designer brands that well, so, conclusion; young woman, difficult life with a job that isn't as well paid as she'd like with a difficult past that she's never gotten over.'

Sherlock finally paused to breathe. John grinned.

'It's fantastic,' he voiced without thinking. 'Sorry.'

'It's... fine,' Sherlock replied with a smirk.

'But... How did you know that she was worried about her Mother?'

Sherlock sighed heavily, impatient with John's apparently slowness. Or, at least, he was being slow in Sherlock's mind.

'Her Mother's a widow, yes? Difficult lifestyle; the daughter's been brought up with limited amounts of money in her life. Now, suddenly, her mother's buying her designer shoes? Makes no sense whatsoever,' Sherlock finished, apparently pleased with himself.

The woman in question disappeared around the corner, out of their lives.

'Okay,' John said. 'What about her?' he pointed at a middle aged woman who was just turning away from them, disappearing around the corner. 'As much as you can get in about two seconds; go.'

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, enjoying himself thoroughly.

'Well...'

A.N: Thanks for reading! That was my first deduction ever, so please don't pick faults in it, I know it's not perfect. But I'm no Moffat or Gatiss : )

Reviews are greatly appreciated, thanks to everybody who's dropped me a line so far : )