Sherlock opened his cell phone at the buzzing alert it made in his coat pocket. "John, not again." He sighed, tired of the constant communication from his flatmate. He had left with a task and every time he received a text message from John, the task was interrupted by something that felt so much like guilt that Sherlock could have sworn he had a caring bone in his body.

He usually waited until there was an opportune moment in the hunt to read each message, but since he was only a mile or so off from the final destination, he decided to read the text the moment it arrived. It read: Alright, I give up. –JW

"I give up?" Sherlock spoke aloud, walking at a swift pace along the paved street he knew so well. He was almost home. The web was demolished and he could finally return to 221b Baker Street. As he walked, he wondered- and then it hit him. "JOHN." Sherlock gasped and his pace shot instantly from a casual quick stroll to a sprint. He ran through the streets navigating the pavement with ease.