Simone:
"I'm trying, Sherlock!" John panted as he struggled to keep up with the fit detective. "Maybe if you would remember the damn milk…"
Sherlock bit his lip as he strained his muscles further, feeling the rippling effect taking a toll on his muscles. He exhaled out into the biting London air and kept his eyes locked on the racing criminal.
His coat billowed as he bounded over the grates atop the building. He narrowed his eyes, focusing his senses on the man behind him.
Fwoomp,fwoomp, John's feet padded across the building's metal top. He was getting closer.
Sherlock's eyes shot open in the stinging air. They had reached the edge of the building.
The hooded figure stopped short, catching his balance.
"I don't care if you die. You can jump. I'll get my information, and you know that."
The hooded figure breathed in heavily, chest pounding.
John jogged up beside Sherlock, resting his hands on his knees. "Love the…running," he rolled his eyes as he breathed deeply.
"I know what you need," the figure responded, beginning to turn towards the two men. "And you know," he pulled out a gun and pointed it at John, "that I can't let that happen."
"Oh, predictable," Sherlock whined, crossing his arms.
"Hey, hey," John put his arms up as a sign of surrender. "I'm just his friend."
"Colleague," Sherlock smirked coyly, thinking of just how far their relationship had progressed since they had met. He glanced at his strawberry jam-red flustered flat mate and couldn't help but feel his lip pull up into a half-smile.
"Semantics," the criminal spit out, cocking the gun.