The world spun like an unsteady top. For a fraction of a second he felt weightless, soaring through the air without gravity or matter, the icy wind seeming to blow straight through him, chilling him to the bone. But reality is rarely so kind as to allow the enjoyment of such a moment for too long, before gravity intercedes and forces your swift and painful reunion with the ground once more. A painfully literal example, in John Watson's case. His ears ringing, and with blood pumping loudly and painfully through his head, John stumbled to his knees with the finesse of a uni student after his first pub crawl, and forced himself to his feet. It reminded him of his time training in the army as a new recruit, practising how to jump out of air-planes. A momentary sense of freedom and wonder followed by a jarring transition into combat.
He refused to die here. He had been in a similar situation to this one,in Afghanistan. He had stoically resigned himself to death then, in that barren desert, but not now. Now he had so many reasons to live; three of them waiting at home for him, and one running beside him, and John was determined to live at least long enough to beat the shit out of that last reason for putting him through this much trouble.
As his head cleared a bit, and he regained some of his balance, John looked around and noticed his surroundings for the first time. They were in a run down part of the city, one he recognized from the occasional free clinic jobs he had worked here in the past. The buildings were mostly run down apartment buildings, cheap restaurants, corners stores, and thrift shops. Usually abuzz with activity at all times of day and night, even here, silence reigned on Christmas. Through the windows on the lower floors, John could see families in the apartments as they passed, playing games in their living rooms or busily preparing the Christmas dinner in the kitchen. He wondered about his own family, if they too were having fun, sitting down to their meal yet, if Henry was enjoying his first taste of Christmas ham. He looked behind them as they turned another corner, and breathed a sigh of relief as they saw the black car drive past them.
They wandered for a few more blocks in silence. Sherlock was preoccupied with his case, and John's mind was on considering their next move as well. As they rounded the next corner, John spotted a telephone box in front of a convenience store and started toward it. Their would be kidnappers had taken their phones and wallets from them when they put them into the car, and for a situation as complicated as this, he needed the advice of the smartest person he knew. His wife.
Grabbing Sherlock by the coat sleeve, he directed him to the phone box; when he got into his head like this, he had a tendency to keep walking and talking to John, well after John had ducked into a shop. Finding that he had just enough change to make a call was the first spot of luck the good doctor had seen all day, and he was glad of it. Punching his home number in, he waited with slight trepidation as the line rang, and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard his wife's voice answering the phone.
"Assassins? I knew Adler was a bit off, but this is just mental." Mary said after he had finished explaining the situation. She was currently distracted, bouncing the baby in one arm, hands full as she pulled Henry's jumper back on for the tenth time that day. "Well, Sherlock shouldn't have too much trouble with them, as long as they're not…"
"They're Russian." John interrupted her, as he watched Sherlock pacing back and forth on the street in front of him, narrowly avoiding being hit by the holiday drivers, and turned away. Nothing but silence on the other end of the line, save for the babbling of the baby in the background, and in his mind's eye, John could see his wife's expression of cold, tactical thoughtfulness, as she considered the problem in which he currently found himself.
"John. These are not the kind of assassins you want to tangle with. " Mary said seriously.
"As opposed to the other kind of assassin, that you invite out to brunch and home for a bit of tea?" John quipped in frustration.
"That's what you did for me." Mary shot back, her worry palpable even as she joked.
"Seriously, John. They won't stop until their mission is achieved, or someone offers them a better offer, and they won't hesitate to kill you if you get in the way. Maybe it's time to start taking more drastic measures with Sherlock. If he won't listen to reason, maybe it's time to try force." She continued darkly.
"What do you expect me to do, Mary? Knock him out and drag him to the hospital? They're not going to let me dump an unconscious man in the middle of an active delivery room." John said, while entertaining the idea in his head for a moment if even just to lift his spirits.
"He's just scared, that's all. Probably doesn't even know it himself. That man wouldn't know how to deal with his own emotions if they came with manuals and a diagram. Don't you remember how nervous you were while I was having Henry?" she gently reminded him.
"Yes, but I came through alright in the end, and you weren't sending armed thugs to kill me if I missed the birth." he retorted.
"Yes, you did. And so will he, he just needs a strong talking to is all. He'll get there." she reassured him, the continued
"And Darling, if you had missed our son's birth, I wouldn't have needed thugs because I would have killed you myself." Which, strangely reassured him much less.
This reminding him of his feckless friend, he turned outside to check on Sherlock, to see nothing but an empty street. Poking his head further out of the phone-box, he scanned the area for his friend, finding nothing but a quiet, peaceful street, two things not found anywhere within 100 meters of Sherlock Holmes. His stomach dropped, and Mary's voice faded out to a distant buzz. So help him, if Sherlock had ditched him again, he bloody well would need to visit a hospital, but it wouldn't be to see Irene or anyone else. Gathering himself together, he stepped back into the booth, and held the receiver to his ear once more.
"Mary, darling, I'm going to need to call you back. I have a high functioning sociopath to hunt down like a dog." He said, hanging up the phone in a dangerous calm. He walked down the street a ways, trying his best to ignore the gazes of the people out with their families, pitying the man walking all alone on Christmas. As he began scanning the two way street, looking for any sign of Sherlock's presence, an older woman also walking on her own, stopped him.
"Your boyfriend went that way, dear." she said, pointing in the direction of a line of shops. John instinctively began to correct her, then thought better of it. After all, she was helping him, and it was Christmas. Besides, it was nothing he hadn't heard from his actual wife many times before.
"Stopped right in his tracks, then ran off like a hunted fox. Hopped in a cab, drove right off. Disappeared in a terrible hurry, if you ask me."
Thanking her for her help, and wishing her a happy holiday, John hurried in the direction the woman had pointed, and hailed a cab of his own, despite having no direction in which to go.
After a moment of thought, and several choice words for Sherlock, John decided the best choice of action would be heading to the police station. If Sherlock had indeed solved the case, as it seemed he had, that would be the first place he would go. If there were two things Sherlock loved more being right, it was being right in front of an audience. So onto Scotland Yard he went, cursing all the way, in very poor Christmas spirits to say the least.
Author's Note: We finally got another chapter out again! YAY! Due to our hectic schedule, and the fact that we are in completely different time zones (I am currently studying abroad), our work on the story will most likely be slow. We still plan to keep writing as much as possible, and hope to be back on a regular schedule soon!