Sherlock's POV

"You really think he's stupid enough to come here?" Jean questioned and I chuckled, as we walked into the restaurant and sat at my usual place near the window. "No, I think he's just brilliant enough," I corrected. "I love the brilliant ones, they're always so eager to get caught." Jean frowned. "Why?" Normally, I would have been annoyed at someone asking me so many questions, but Jean seemed truly curious, not mocking, so I reveled in the chance to be able to explain it to her.

"Appreciation! Applause!" I gestured outwards. "At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, Jean: it needs an audience." Jean raised an eyebrow and bit her lips. She was trying to hide a smile. "Right," she agreed in a solemn voice and shot me a pointed glance. I gave her a tiny scowl, though I knew she was right; I was a show-off, but she was already looking at the menu. I looked out the window at the busy streets. "Twenty-two Northumberland Street," I muttered, just as Angelo came up to us. "Good to have you back, Sherlock," he exclaimed,clapping me on the back with enthusiasm. I tried not to cringe; I really wasn't comfortable with people touching me so casually; except Mummy. And Daddy. And my old dog, Redbeard. But, he shouldn't count; he wasn't human. "I'm not his date!" I focused again to see Jean glaring at Angelo with annoyance. "Anything off the menu, whatever you want," Angelo said seriously. "I'll cook it myself." "Thank you, Angelo," I said sincerely and Jean gave her order. "I'll just come back with your food and some candles; make it more romantic, yes?" "I'm not his date," Jean repeated, a little exasperated this time, and Angelo just winked suggestively and left. I'd given up on Angelo a long time ago. He, and all people really, just saw what they wanted to see. "You might as well eat," I told Jean. "We could be a while." She nodded absently, then cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you?" I had to think about it. "What day is it?" "Wednesday." "Only three days. I'm still okay for a bit," I decided. Jean's eyes widened. "You haven't eaten for three days?! How are you still on your feet? You need to eat," she hissed. I blinked in curiosity. She was concerned…? Oh right, doctor. It was second nature for her to worry about patients, or people's health in general. "No, you need to eat. I need to think," I assured her. "The brain's what counts. Everything else is just transport." "Well, you might think to refuel," she pointed out.

Angelo came over with Jean's dish and candles, and Jean, after sighing at it in resignation, started eating. "So, any girlfriend?" She asked, in-between spoonfuls. "No, girlfriend, no," I said absently. "Not really my area." I was looking out the window intently, so I didn't realize what I'd said to give Jean pause, until she spoke again. "Alright, a boyfriend, then?" I looked over to see her scrutinizing me intently. "Which is fine, by the way," she hurried to add. "I know it's fine," I blurted out. There was a short awkward pause. "So, then…?" "No," I stated firmly. "Okay, fine. So," she struggled for something to say. "Unattached, then, like me. Good, okay." She started eating again, and I looked back out the window. But, Jean's words played around in my head. 'Unattached, then, like me.' Could it be then…? Oh, dear God, I hoped not. It would make everything so awkward, if she did move into Baker Street. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. "Jean, you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any kind of…" "No, no, no." The woman shook her head frantically, her blonde hair swinging slightly. She was pretty, I noticed absently, in an understated kind of way. 'Delete that, Holmes,' I told myself, as I did every time I noticed such things. Thank goodness, it worked all the time. "I wasn't trying to ask you out, I was just asking. All I'm saying is, it's all fine," she assured me. She gazed at me earnestly and I knew she meant it. So, I nodded and turned back to the window, while she resumed eating.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but it passed in silence. It wasn't awkward, but comfortable. Until finally, I spotted what I was looking for. "Jean." The doctor looked up and followed my gaze. There was a taxi cab, parked near the opposite shop. "Nobody getting in, nobody getting out," I mused. "What, that's him?" "Don't stare," I ordered. "You're staring," she accused. "Well, we can't both stare. Come on."

I grabbed my coat and scarf and dashed out. The cab had a hire. I ran towards it, ignoring the car that nearly run me over, choosing to vault over it. "Sorry," I heard Jean call out. Too late. The cab pulled away. "I got the number," she told me. "Good for you."

I blocked out everything, all the noise, the people, everything, and concentrated on the route the can would take. I knew every step, every street and alley of London. I could outpace the cab. 'Focus,' I told myself. There, I had it. Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights. "Let's go!" I cried. And we took off.

I took us up a building staircase and up on to the rooftop. I already had adrenaline rushing through my veins, but I felt an additional thrill when I realized Jean was right behind, hot on my heels. I leapt over to the next rooftop. Almost immediately, I felt Jean's momentary absence, her brief hesitation. "Come on, Jean! We're losing him!" I yelled and that was all the encouragement she needed. She took the jump, landed flawlessly on her feet and took off running again. Within minutes, we were back on the ground. I could see in my mind that we would cross the cab. We would catch him… We would… No! The cab took another path. Damn it! It passed us by, just as we reached the point of intersection. "This way!" I yelled and took a right. "No, this way!" I called yet again, as Jean took a left, following the cab by instinct. "Sorry," I heard, but I ignored it. No time, no time, just focus, run, run, RUN!

I ran out into the path of the cab, forcing it to halt. "Police!" I brandished the badge I always carried in my pocket and yanked open the door. "No!" I groaned the instant I saw the man inside. "Teeth, tan- you're American." Jean was beside me, staring at the man as well. He gazed up at us with confusion. "I'm sorry, are- are you the police?" "Yeah, everything alright?" I waved the badge in his face, feigning noncholance. "Welcome to London." Smiling falsely, I turned away and walked a few metres. Jean joined me in seconds. "Wrong country, good alibi," she noted. She was only slightly panting, to my surprise. I could hardly breathe.

"Hey, where did you get that? Here." She nearly snatched the police ID badge from my hand and looked it over with amusement. "Lestrade?" She inquired, reading out the name. "Yes, I pickpocket him when he gets annoying," I shrugged. "You can keep that one, I've got dozens at the flat."

I looked around, trying to hide my lack of breath from Jean and trying to get it back as well. I was cursing our bad luck as well. It was just a cab that happened to slow down. I was watching the American approach a traffic police, when a stifled giggle caught my attention. "What?" I wondered, looking over at Jean. She was shaking her head. "Nothing, just… Welcome to London!" She laughed again and I found myself smiling brightly as well. "Got your breath back?" I gestured towards the American who was pointing us out to the policeman. "Ready when you are." With a shared wink, we started running in the direction of Baker Street.

"That… was ridiculous," Jean gasped, as we collapsed against the wall in front of the stairs inside 221B. "That was simply… the most ridiculous thing… that I have ever done." We rested our heads against the wall. "You invaded Afghanistan," I reminded her and we both dissolved into helpless childish giggles again. "That wasn't me alone," she pointed out.

"Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" She questioned, after a few seconds. "Oh, they can keep an eye out there," I waved dismissively. "It was a long shot anyways." "So,what were we doing there?" She asked. "Oh, just passing the time." I cleared my throat, looking at her with obscured excitement before continuing. "And proving a point." "What point?" Her confusion was real and I realized she hadn't even noticed the lack of a cane in her hand. The fact that she had just chased a cab across London on foot hadn't even struck her yet. I had to laugh briefly again. "You," I told her. Her look of surprise was priceless. "Mrs Hudson," I called, instead of explaining to Jean. "Dr Watson will take the room upstairs." "Says who?" Jean challenged with a smile. I returned it, quite easily, I found. "Says the man at the door."

Right on cue, there was a knock. Staring at me for a few seconds in amazement, Jean went to open the door. "Sherlock texted me," I heard Angelo say. Jean looked back at me through the doorway, holding her walking stick. Her eyes were wide, making it easy for me to read her. I wasn't really were good at recognizing and understanding human emotions, but the ones that were playing on her face were obvious to even me. Glee, thankfulness, kinship. I grinned back at her. My assumptions had been right: Jean would make a good roommate.