Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners.


Sherlock's running, running, and John follows.

How does he expect to catch a taxi?

He follows anyways.

Right turn, one way – they're running through backstreets and alleys; John can't see the taxi, but they're still running. It's frantic and frenetic and frenzied and he hasn't run this far, this fast – not since Afghanistan. John's running.

Up stairs, jumping roofs, down stairs – two at a time – and in front of a cab, how did they do that?

He can't shake the feeling he's forgotten something important.

Hours later, back at the flat, Angelo knocks on the door with a cane.

Oh.