Four Hours Later

Climbing up the steps to reach the tables in the restaurant had never been such a challenge as after almost seventeen hours straight of hiking. When the two of them were finally sitting around the table they immediately and simultaneously just flopped over and let their heads rest on their crossed arms which were lying on the table. Every muscle in his body hurt and all John wanted to do was sleep, but knowing Sherlock he was pretty damn sure he wasn't going to get any of that. The two of them pushed themselves back up after a while.

They were in a small holiday village called La Fouly, mostly used as a refuge stay on the Tour Mont Blanc.

A waitress walked up to them.

"Que désirez-vous?", she asked. John knew enough French to know that she was asking what they wanted. Sherlock's eyes flashed over to him with a hopeful look. John rolled his eyes and mouthed "Fine" to him. Sherlock smiled in gratitude and looked up to the woman.

"Un café, s'il vous plaît," he said in a remarkably good French.

"Deux cafés," John corrected. The waitress smiled and left the terrace. The two of them looked around again; it seemed as if the beautiful views just never stopped here. They were in a valley at the moment but one of the mountains surrounding it was right in front of them. Being in the north, the morning sun shone on it wonderfully, the blue sky adding a nice splash of colour to the entire image.

The waitress arrived with the two coffees and placed them on the table. The two men muttered something in between a "Thank you" and a "Merci" to her and stirred the brew for no reason. Sherlock carefully put his usual two cubes of sugar into his coffee and kept stirring. He then took a sip to check it. The steamy drink had never been more welcome to him than now. After eighteen hours of hiking, this was just what he needed. Sherlock leaned back in his seat and let out a sigh of relief. John smiled at him as he slowly took a second sip of his own coffee, which felt very nice as well.

"So what's the plan?" John asked with a small beacon of hope that Sherlock might tell him something.

"You leave that to me, John."

No, hope gone. John raised his eyebrows and took another sip.

"Okay..."

"We're taking a bus at twelve thirty-five, we may as well eat here."

"Finally!" John said under his breath while closing his eyes. He had completely forgotten about the hole in his belly, which had been complaining for the last ten hours at least.

Six Hours Later

After having eaten at La Fouly, taken the bus from there and changed train five times, the two men were now on a train climbing a mountain, somewhere in central Switzerland. John stared out the window and watched the trees go by while Sherlock was quietly studying his notebook. They hadn't had the chance to sleep yet; none of the train rides were longer than forty minutes. The train came to a stop in a small station with two platforms. Suddenly, Sherlock looked up and looked around, carefully making sure they were at the right spot.

"This is us," he mumbled and jumped up from his seat. Before John even noticed that he was gone, he saw his friend outside the train and running off to the other side of the tracks. John swore under his breath, got up and quickly walked to the door of the train. Once he was out, Sherlock was already on the other side of the tracks.

"Sher-!" John broke off, remembering that they'd also made headlines here. Nevertheless, Sherlock recognized that as being a shout out to him and turned around.

"Wait a second!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as John finally caught up to him.

"Okay, now let's go!" The taller man started walking down the road.

"Sherlock..." John said but more quietly than before.

"What?!" he said, turning around frantically.

"We've been rushing everything non-stop since we were in Courmayeur yesterday evening. Can we just pause for a little and look around?"

Sherlock stared at him with an undeducible look for god knows how long.

"Fine."

"Thank you." John turned around and carefully studied his new location. It seemed like a small town in a long valley. There was a playground behind them and a couple of tall yellow signs which pointed in every direction, indicating how long a walk places were, as they'd seen quite a lot already around here. In front of them was the train station, and under a small roof, when he squinted, he saw a sign that told him the name of the small city: Meiringen.

John turned back to Sherlock.

"So what made you come up with this place? What crime no one has the slightest clue of but you happened in Meiringen?" he asked, secretly wondering if he was pronouncing it correctly. Sherlock's lips curled into a smile and he nodded at the signs behind his friend.

"Look behind you." John stared at him in confusion, turned around once more and looked at the signs again. There it was, one odd one out. Beneath all the yellow hiking signs was one brown one pointing to his right. It read: Reichenbachfall.

His mouth formed on "O" as he finally understood.

"But that's..." he looked around to see whether anyone was there: no one; perfect, "...this is where the falls are. The falls on the painting you recovered."

"No, the other Reichenbach Falls, the ones that I said would be a great place to hide near if I ever ended up as a wanted criminal," Sherlock said sarcastically. John looked back at the signs.

"Reichenbach... Seems like so long ago."

"It was so long ago..."

"So where are we staying? Is there even a hotel here?"

"Course there is, don't be stupid, John. But we aren't staying there. It's too dangerous. I thought we could sleep in there instead." He pointed at a small chapel beside the tracks.

"And no one will notice?" John asked while carefully inspecting the small building. It seemed comfy enough.

"Not if we're careful enough. Besides it isn't a Sunday, we should be fine."

"All right then, I guess it's your decision so..."

John started walking towards the small chapel and opened the door. He let Sherlock pass through first, then entered as well and locked the door behind him. It wasn't great but it would certainly do. Flinging his backpack off, John stepped into the hall, flashing his eyes in every direction, walked over to the first row of benches, then let himself fall onto it and almost instantly fell asleep. Sherlock laughed but then remembered his own exhaustion. He went to the other side of the row, lay down on it and fell asleep extremely quickly as well.