oh my god =_= this chapter is super not imaginative xDD i'msorryforthefiller
i've just had a terrible time with inspiration so like none of this makes practical sense i'm just writing it for fun ||D and plus i still dunno if this whole thing if i'm writing it realistically or not ! xD
anyways
i hope you enjoy anyways x""D
"So, Roy Lincoln didn't do it," said Joan, hurrying a little to keep up as Sherlock strode out the door.
"Suppose not," Sherlock said, faking thoughtfulness. Inside he was gleeful. The first part of his plan had gone well. Now for the more complex bits.
"You said there were five main suspects, right?" asked Joan.
"Right." Sherlock said. "We'll be visiting the second one in his flat, I think he should be there around now."
Sherlock rang the doorbell of the apartment and tapped his foot impatiently. He had rented it himself, of course. Once again, he wondered if the whole complex plan was even going to be worth it. Sherlock was not one to doubt himself, especially in the middle of the plan, but human emotions- Joan's emotions- were unpredictable. Maybe that was why he loved-
The door opened, interrupting Sherlock's thoughts abruptly.
"Is this Mr. Andrew Hixby?" asked Joan politely. The young man smiled at her.
"That's me," he said, glancing once at Sherlock before looking again at Joan. "Um… is there a problem?"
"We'd just like to ask you a few questions," Joan said. "We think you might have been involved in a crime that took place last night." "Andrew"'s eyebrows shot up.
"Well, you'd better come in, then," he said.
Sherlock and Joan sat on one end of the sofa, while the young man leaned forwards on his knees in a chair in the living room.
"So… a crime?" he asked innocently. "What crime are we talking about?"
"Some important information was taken from the NYPD police base," broke in Sherlock. "Witnesses say that you were seen near the scene of the crime."
"Me?" asked the man incredulously. "I would never steal anything!" He spread his arms, looking the very picture of confusion. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Well, you're proven to have reasons to resent the police force," pointed out Joan. The man looked briefly confused.
"Oh… no, well, I mean, that was the past," he blustered. Sherlock hadn't realized what good actors his homeless network were. "Believe me, I never even realized whatever it is you're talking about existed before now! Last night, I was over at my old mom's house. You can call her and ask her; she'll back me up."
"Okay, okay, we're not accusing you of anything," cut in Joan, raising her hands. The "suspect" calmed down. "We've just got to ask everybody who was seen near the police base last night."
"So… I'm not in trouble?" asked Andrew anxiously.
"No, I'm pretty sure you're fine," said Joan, glancing at Sherlock, who nodded at her. "We'll be checking up on everything you said, of course, but if everything goes well you shouldn't have to be taken in for questioning."
"Thank goodness!" said Andrew exaggeratedly, giving Sherlock a big, fake smile. "You really gave me a scare there!"
"Yes, ha ha," said Sherlock uncomfortably, standing up and beckoning for Joan to stand as well. "We'll be off now."
"Thank you for your time," said Joan. Just then, the doorbell rang, startling Andrew and Joan. Sherlock hid his smile. Oh, this will be good.
"Sorry, hold on and let me get that," said Andrew, walking towards the door. Sherlock heard it open and a few brief mutters exchanged. Quickly, he tapped Joan on the shoulder, turning her attention towards him. Inconspicuously, he made sure their wrists were close together.
"Well, that was a dead end," said Joan, one corner of her mouth quirking up. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder once.
"Yes, well, at least we have another suspect eliminated," he said, hearing footsteps in the hall. Joan started to look around; Sherlock swiftly directed her attention back to him. Just a few more moments… "Watson, listen closely to what I'm about to say," he said urgently. Just as he had expected, Joan turned to him expectantly, and…
Something cold and hard clicked around Sherlock's wrist at the same time as he heard Joan give a startled yelp. The next second, he felt his arm being wrenched nearly out of its socket as he and Joan tumbled to the floor in an ungainly heap.
"Watson, hold still," he yelled, hearing the jingle of the handcuffs. Everything's going according to plan. Her fingers were warmer than his as they brushed against his hands.
"What's going on?!" she demanded as he wriggled off her and sat up, scanning the room. Andrew, wearing a silly expression of shock on his face, was behind the "third suspect", who was grinning cockily- probably enjoying this whole thing, Sherlock thought- and holding up a small silver key.
"He's handcuffed us together," said Sherlock, bringing their cuffed hands into view. "Probably trying to slow us down!"
"Third suspect" winked at them and then bolted down the hallway.
Joan immediately tried to leap to her feet, only succeeding in crashing to the ground again.
"Ugh," she said, gazing at their connected wrists. "Okay, we're going to have to work together..."
"Exactly," said Sherlock. "All right, we're going to stand up slowly, and at the same time… now." He and Joan and Sherlock rose to their feet shakily. Joan looked a little upset, but mostly annoyed and confused. It'll be good training for her, Sherlock told himself. He was surprised at how unbalanced he had been. I'm out of practice… when was the last time I was handcuffed to someone?
With a small shock, he realized that it had been with Irene. The two of them had cuffed both their hands together, swallowed the keys, and then spent a giddy hour-and-half doing their best to unlock themselves. It had been the kind of creative thing Irene had loved. He hadn't given it a second thought- not for a long time now.
With another shock, he realized that it didn't hurt to think about. Not with Joan right next to him, her wrist brushing hers lightly, and the blood pumping in his veins.
What I thought would never heal…
"Something wrong?" asked Joan, and he realized that he had been silent for an inordinately amount of time.
"Everything's fine." He blinked twice and turned to her briskly, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.
"Now we can run," he said.
They sprinted down the hallway together, Sherlock leading and Joan following. He risked looking back and almost lost his balance because of the way her eyes had lighted up and the way her hair blew out of her face as they ran out the open door and into the street. The handcuffs jingled around their wrists as both of them looked around. People on the streets gave them strange looks.
"Over there!" yelled Joan suddenly, pointing. Third suspect was waving teasingly from around the corner of a building, the key flashing in the light. As the two bolted in that direction, the man disappeared from view. Sherlock shoved aside a middle-aged man, hearing Joan yell an apology as they sprinted away.
Their feet pounded against the ground in rhythm as they rounded the corner, the metal of the handcuffs pulling against Sherlock's skin as they tripped and veered away from each other slightly. He was grinning by now, enjoying the thrill of the chase as third suspect led them through a convoluted path through New York. Sherlock was pretty sure he had seen at least three people call the police. Well, it's not like two people handcuffed to each other come rampaging through the streets every day.
"God, I think we lost him," panted Joan at last, wincing as they skidded to a halt, Joan looking all around and Sherlock looking at her. He wasn't sure how much ground they had covered, but it had been a lot. He watched his breath plume out into the air in front of his face. His face was freezing against the cold wind, but his right hand was warm.
What?
Looking down at his handcuffed hand, he suddenly realized that at some point during the chase, he and Joan had locked hands. Her smaller hand was warm and smooth in his. He wondered how neither of them had noticed it happen. At what point…?
Well, if he pointed it out now, it would just be awkward, so he looked up again.
"Hey, there he is!" broke out Joan, briefly forgetting and pointing with her left hand. Before Sherlock could react, the both of them were crushed into the ground again.
"Oops," she said, her voice muffled by the snow. "Forgot about the handcuffs."
Sherlock just laughed and pulled them both back upright, taking Joan's other hand in his own and pulling her to her feet. They stood there for a second, facing each other and holding hands, both dusted with snow and rosy-cheeked. Sherlock was very aware of how long the moment was stretching out. Their eyes met and Joan blinked, obviously caught off-guard. Over her shoulder, he caught sight of third suspect smirking at him.
"We're going to lose him," he pointed out gently. Joan blinked again.
"Oh!" she said, which was unlike her.
Sherlock reluctantly let go of her hands and pulled her along after third suspect, who disappeared down an alleyway.
They chased third suspect down the long alley until, as planned, they cornered him down a dead end. He grinned cheekily and tossed the silver key up in the air.
"The game's up," said Sherlock, holding out a hand. "Give us the key."
"Who is this guy?" asked Joan, breathing hard, a flush of pink in her cheeks that Sherlock tried not to notice.
"The third suspect," he told her. Her eyebrows jerked up. "That's why he wanted to slow us down, make his getaway. A bad tactic," he added to the cornered man, who only smirked and dropped the key into Sherlock's outstretched palm.
"We're sending you back to the station for questioning," said Sherlock, bending around and using the key to unlock his and Joan's wrists. There was a rush of cold air as they separated, Joan wringing her wrist and sighing. Sherlock quietly pocketed the handcuffs.
"You're another one of Sherlock's fake suspects, eh?" asked Gregson, letting the bedraggled man into his office. "Have a seat."
"Yup, m'name's Jake," said the man, sitting in the offered chair and grinning at the police captain. "Pleased t'meet ya."
"Care for some coffee?" asked Gregson, holding out a steaming mug.
"Don't mind if I do," said Jake, taking the cup and drinking deeply out of it. "Ahhh, that's the stuff. Thank ya, Captain."
"You're welcome," said Gregson, sitting down behind his desk and watching the man sip more coffee. "So… you're helping Sherlock Holmes with this… crazy plan?" he asked.
The man gave a short bark of laughter.
"Pretty crazy, yeah," he admitted. "But I mean, we're all real loyal to him, and 'twasn't anything big that we were doing. I thought it was kinda fun."
"And do you think Sherlock will succeed?" asked Gregson quietly. Jake appeared to consider this.
"Depends on what ya think the goal is," he said at last.
"You know. Winning Joan over."
"Well, you know, 'bout Holmes," Jake said thoughtfully, "he don't fail at much. And if he really wants to succeed at something, you can bet your boots that sooner or later, he'll get what he wants." The man gave Gregson a small, crooked smile.
"I'm worried about Joan," Gregson confessed. "I don't want Sherlock to hurt her."
"Hurt her?" Jake actually laughed. "Cap'n, from what I can see, Joan kin take perfectly good care of herself. They been living together for a while now, haven't they?"
"Well. Yes."
"And she's not dead yet, is she?"
"No, she's not." Gregson paused. "And that's something impressive in itself, to be honest."
The two men shared a chuckle.
"Seriously, though, Cap'n," said Jake, leaning forward slightly, "don't worry about Joan. Sherlock takes her real serious. He cares a lot about her."
He gave Gregson a smile.