"What are you doing?"
"Making a bomb. Thought that was obvious." It wasn't even eight in the morning and Jim already had plans to destroy something. Of course.
"I meant for what?" Sherlock's question took on a slightly clipped tone in reaction to Jim's derisive lilt.
"Oh!" the criminal sighed dopily, like he hadn't known what the detective had meant with to begin with, like it was a silly misunderstanding and not a game. Then he giggled and dropped the façade entirely. "This bad boy is going to take down a certain gentleman's club," Jim wrapped the copper ends of a wire on to the timer.
Red. Green. Sherlock eyed the trappings for Jim's bomb which were laid out over the living room coffee table, with the criminal sitting cross-legged underneath it. Yellow. White. A gentleman's club.
"Oh." Jim was going to blow up the Diogenes Club. "I rather like that place." It was his next move against the Ice Man. Very nice, clever. Mycroft cared a great deal for the club. He was one of its founders after all. And then there were all the various statesmen who frequented it. Loosing them would create a great deal of chaos.
"Yes, well, we are still on with the whole destroying Mycroft gambit?" Jim didn't really need to ask and Sherlock didn't deign him with an answer. It was just a subtle reminder that concessions had to be made to win a war.
"How are you going to get it in?"
"I have a man..."
"Oh, of course, you do." Jim grinned, but turned his attention back to the task in front of him.
"Where will you have him put it?"
"The floor plans right over there and I have the location marked." Sherlock leaned over the papers.
"Do you think it will kill-" Sherlock breaks off and Jim appraises the detective over the tweezers he's picked up.
"He won't be anywhere near the blast radius." Sherlock's eyes flick back catching the criminal's gaze, which Jim holds before turning back to his work, saying before the detective asks. "He's in Suffolk."
Visiting your mum. Jim didn't need to say it.
"Oh," Sherlock intoned. Sherlock certainly hadn't forgotten that his mum was dying, no. He was just distracted. With other things. With Jim. With chaos. And mother dying, that was a great deal less exciting. It was all rather boring, actually. Dying. That's what people do? Right. Still, he had done such a good job of putting the knowledge away, in a box, out of sight, in the back of his mind. And now Jim had gone and brought it out. Not like it was his fault...but still. Still. She was his mother. But they weren't, had never been, close enough for it to really affect him. But still.
"I was thinking, when I'm done with this we could go-"
"When?"
"Mmmm," Jim scrunched up his face, looking down at his work. "About five minutes."
"I'll get dressed, then."
Sherlock needed to move. He needed to go out. He needed to walk. It was ironic how he always took for granted being able to be in the city. To feel the city. It breathing all around him. Always moving. Something always happening somewhere. He hadn't realized how much he missed having it at his fingertips, within a few steps from his chemistry lab. Granted walking around Los Angeles could in no way compare to London, but it would have to do.
Jim puts the final touches on his bomb and texts Moran the specifics for the man in London. He tells the colonel that he and the detective are going out. Only contact him if it was an absolute emergency, otherwise Jim was going to have a new belt made out of a rare and endangered species of disgraced colonel.
As Sherlock leads them down one street and up another, Jim doesn't say much. An idle comment here, a sarcastic remark about some observation there, but mostly Jim was just shadowing Sherlock around. He seemed to understand on some level that Sherlock needed this. Jim seemed to be fine experiencing the city with him. He'd certainly never done this in L.A. before. So, it was a totally new experience, he walked around Florence like this once. Of course, his walk ended in a nice murder...
They turn a corner and its a street of outdoor cafes and bustling shops and Jim suggests that they do that. Kill a random person.
He asks Sherlock to pick one. Looking up at the detective with those eyes that in the California sun have gone a dark honey. It's a dare. A challenge.
Sherlock looks at Jim for half a second. And Jim can see him considering saying, no. That no, that's not why he wanted to go for a walk. Jim can see this and is almost disappointed. He dearly loves to push people, Sherlock in particular. But if the detective doesn't play along-
Then Sherlock is pointing. Pointing to a couple in the second nearest cafe. He says: them.
Jim nods.
Good choice.