They had been standing in that dark stinking alley for two hours and a half. It was half past ten in the evening and it had been a very long day. John was freezing cold and, by the look, he knew that Sherlock Holmes wasn't any warmer. Except that John was shaking from head to feet and Holmes., as always, seemed totally unaffected by the circumstances. How did they manage to end there? John tried to recollect his memories to forget the cold biting his skin, deep down to his bones. Ah, yes. It had started like that…

That Friday morning he was waiting for the professors' meeting to start.

It had been a relatively good week for him. After the conversation he had had with Sherlock Holmes on Sunday, the student had returned to attend the lessons, thing that had filled him with a feeling of reassurance and comfort. The young man obviously hadn't followed a single word coming out from John's mouth, being intent either on window-staring or ceiling-staring, but nevertheless he had been present in the classroom.

Then on Wednesday he had gone out with Laura for a second date. They had gone to the cinema and had walked for a while around London. It had been a very happy date and he was preserving the memory of it very dearly.

But now, at ten a.m. on Friday morning, he was sitting in a corridor together with other ten professors of the chemistry department waiting for a meeting he didn't want to be part of to start. While he was repeating himself that was his duty to take part in that meeting, he felt his mobile buzzing in his pocket. He took it out.

Need you – SH.

John frowned, staring at the screen with an expression on his face that was a mixture of astonishment, doubt and idiocy. How the hell Sherlock (he didn't even mind to call him Mr. Holmes this time) had got his phone number? Stupid question. He knew that the young man could've found it in no time. He was talking about Mr. I-know-all-Holmes after all. He ignored the text. Minutes later the phone buzzed again.

Need you – SH.

He snorted at the screen, receiving some inquisitive gazes from the people around him.

Then the meeting started. They had to discuss about a new system of bureaucratic procedures that was about to be introduced in the university. An experimental project about which many professors weren't happy. He couldn't care less and he forced himself to sit down, trying to show some interest in the whole matter. Ten minutes later he was already bored to death. His mobile buzzed again.

Need you – SH.

He ignored the text one more time. The professor in charge of speaking was talking about some violated privacy and similar stuffs. John tried desperately to find it interesting. Even Laura was attending the meeting and she seemed very keen on it, so John thought he had to demonstrate that he was interested too. Building a relationship with someone, in his opinion, meant staying by the other person's side even in those moments. His phone buzzed one more time.

He looked at it disconsolate, already knowing what he was going to read.

Need you – SH.

While he was putting it back in his pocket, it started to buzz continually in his hand. One. Two. Three. Thirty times. He quickly looked at the screen. Thirty two messages. Thirty two messages by the same number. Thirty two messages by Sherlock Holmes. Thirty two messages with the same text.

Need you – SH.

He couldn't help but smiling. But then he noticed that everyone in the room was looking at him.

"Sorry,", he managed to mutter "it's an emergency."

And he bolted off the room, twenty eyes following him until he closed the door. He finally decided to text back to Sherlock. He didn't even know what to write, so he simply texted:

I'm busy. I'm attending a meeting.

And he sent it. Two seconds later the answer arrived.

Boring. You can leave it. – SH.

I can't. It's important.

Not true. And most of all you're finding it extremely uninteresting. – SH.

John looked around him, expecting the face of Sherlock to appear somewhere in the corridor. No one to be seen anywhere. The corridor was just empty. Another text arrived.

Don't look around like that, John. I'm not there. I'm not a stalker who loves spying on you. – SH.

How the…? But before he had even formulated the question in his mind, the phone buzzed.

Don't waste your and my time in useless questions. I just happen to know how you do work. –SH.

John didn't know what to think anymore. He didn't know if being totally impressed by the other man's brilliance or being totally frightened by it. His phone interrupted the stream of thoughts.

Need you – SH.

I have already stated that I can't come.

And I've already stated that you were bored. I'm offering you the perfect escape. –SH.

And it was true. John was bored to death and Sherlock couldn't have been more right than that. He needed an escape and Holmes had just provided him with one. His useless excuses crumbled into pieces in less than one second. He texted quickly:

Where?

North Harrow. Take the tube. Will be waiting for you just outside the station. – SH.

John started to run in the corridor, oblivious of everything else but the thrill of adrenaline already pumping in his blood. He didn't even notice that he had left both his briefcase and his jacket in the meeting room. He just ran straight into the tube, changed two lines and forty minutes later he got off the train at the North Harrow station. Sherlock Holmes was standing on the platform and looked at him, a subtle smile on his lips.

"I knew you would've come!", the young man greeted him.

"Yeah. Yeah. You were right."

"I'm always right!"

"Are you always like this? Just to know what I might expect from you…"

Sherlock gave him a perplexed look.

"Ok. Ok. I'll shut up.", John sighed "Why am I here? What do you need me for?"

"Burglaries!", said Sherlock, evidently thrilled "There have been different cases of house breakings lately, all of them done by the same person…"

"Aren't burglaries boring for your brilliant mind?", interrupted John, quite surprised.

"Not these ones. These are worth my time. The burglar is really skilled. He never leaves a single trace. He just seems to magically appear in the houses, steal everything in it and disappear fifteen minutes later. He's methodically precise. Nevertheless, after three hours of thinking this night, I've been able to retrace a scheme in the houses he had chosen and I'm sure that this evening he's going to strike in this quarter. We just have to find which house…"

"Still: what do you need me for?", asked John.

He actually didn't care if the young man really needed him or not, but he wanted to know it anyway.

"I need you to walk with me around this quarter. A man walking alone in the same place the whole day would surely attract a lot of attention. I thought that the two of us will be less suspicious. Plus you're already enjoying it…", and he smirked with his usual wry smile.

There was really no need to deny it, John knew it would've been such a blatant lie.

"Oh, god, yes! I totally do!", he said enthusiastically.

Sherlock winked.

"Well then, doctor Watson, the game is on!"

John wondered for a moment why the other man had suddenly decided to call him doctor Watson. He had surely warned Sherlock to not call him John, but having seen he had done it on the previous Sunday and even in the text messages, he had expected that he would've done it again. He didn't know why, but it felt a little strange being called again by his surname.

They started to walk around North Harrow in silence. John had rather an hard time keeping up with the young man's pace, but followed him around constantly, never stopping nor showing any signs of weakness. Sherlock looked at every house they passed by attentively, scrutinising every inch of them. Sometimes he just said "not this" in seconds, other times he spent minutes with his eyes closed in front of a building, mumbling something intelligible before saying "no" and going on.

By two p.m. they had covered most of the quarter. John's legs were starting to feel a little sore and, despite the brisk air, he was sweating under his jumper. On the other hand Sherlock Holmes was still looking graceful. He moved around without showing any sign of tiredness or discomfort.

But there was a bigger problem for John. He was hungry. No, wrong. He was starving. If he didn't eat something soon, he would pass out on the pavement. He turned to Sherlock.

"Something to eat?", he asked.

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, I am. I was trying to suggest that we should stop for a bit and eat, don't know, a sandwich or a salad…"

Sherlock reciprocated the request with an annoyed look, but indicated a point down the street.

"There's a shopping centre there. I guess I can grant you fifteen minutes for your physical needs."

John gave the young man a bewildered look, tempted to answer something like 'at your orders, my majesty', but stopped after realising that Sherlock Holmes was still his student and he was still his professor.

"I don't know if you remember that, but I'm still your professor, Mr. Holmes. Some respect would be highly appreciated."

Sherlock, obviously, sighed an annoyed huff.

"Boring as always, John."

John rolled his eyes. Now Sherlock was using his first name to tease him. That man was impossible. He asked himself why he was still following him around instead of just letting him alone with his burglars and his criminal hunt, but he had no logical answer to that and kept following. He shook his head.

They entered the shopping centre five minutes later and John immediately rushed into a coffee shop which served sandwiches that looked just delicious. Not that John was really minding the aspect of the food at that exact moment, since he was so hungry he could've eaten plastic. He turned to Sherlock:

"Which one do you want?", he asked, pointing at the cabinet where they were disposed.

"None.", was the dry reply.

"You should eat something!"

"I don't need to eat!", he answered rather angrily "Eating slows me down!"

"Eating doesn't slow you down, Sherlock! Eating keeps you moving! For the heaven's sake!"

And John bought two tuna sandwiches and tucked one into the hands of his student, who just looked at it and threw it into the next waste bin. John huffed heavily. It looked like he was dealing with a child, not with a grown up man. He knew that Holmes wasn't a common man at all, but this was just beyond craziness. The shop assistant was looking at them completely shocked and John felt helpless all of a sudden. He began to think again about leaving as soon as he finished his lunch. He sat down at a table and Sherlock, strangely, did the same. The young man seemed to be amused by something, because he was smirking contented.

"What's that?", John questioned.

"That what?"

"That face. You're smirking."

"Oh. That.", he smirked even more "You've just called me 'Sherlock' a second time."

John's head stopped functioning for a fraction of a second. Overcome by rage, he had called the young man by his first name. He had already started, he realised, to call him 'Sherlock' in his mind, because no matter how he tried he couldn't manage to stick with Mr. Holmes, but he had stupidly thought that he was strong enough to not let it ever slip out of his mouth. And there it was. He had just called a student of his by his first name. He knew immediately that from that moment on there wouldn't have been a coming back, but he tried his best to mend the disaster he had just done.

"Yeah. Sorry. It won't happen anymore. It was just the anger speaking…"

"I didn't take it as an offence!", the young man bursted out "I have asked to call me by that name. I see no need in apologising."

"I shouldn't call you by your first name. And you shouldn't call me by my first name. You're still my student and I'm still your professor.", John said, paying attention at lowering his voice therefore only Sherlock could hear.

"Yes, John. I'm still your student. Yet you're still following me."

Hit and sunk. John felt defeated.

"And stop being so boring and predictable.", he finished, almost a plea.

John bit his sandwich and started to eat it slowly, savouring every morsel as if it helped to clean his ideas. Sherlock looked at the people passing by. They stayed silent for a while.

"Does Lestrade know about this hunt?", John asked at some point.

"Not yet."

"He should."

"I'll contact him as soon as I find the house. Now shut up and let me think."

John shook his head one more time, but finished his sandwich without uttering a word. Minutes passed and Sherlock didn't move a finger. He stayed motionless, lost in a world of his own. John stared at him like he was some sort of an alien creature. And he was. Perhaps there was no nearest term to what Sherlock Holmes was than 'alien'. He seemed distant from the other people, inhuman sometimes. Inhuman was another word that John could associate with the young man. And he had his proof seconds later. A young lady approached to the table and addressed to him, who was still reflecting about something.

"I'm sorry, do you know…"

But she hadn't the time to end the sentence.

"Yes. I know that the toilet is on the second floor. And I know that your husband is cheating on you repeatedly. And yes with your male yoga teacher. Now if you are so kind to let me concentrate…"

At first the poor woman looked at him shocked, then returned to her friend muttering something like 'bastard' and 'I don't want to see him anymore' and started to sob heavily. John gave Sherlock an askance look.

"Why did you do that?", John inquired, feeling already defeated.

"Did what?"

"Telling those horrible things."

"What horrible things?", Sherlock seemed really puzzled by what John was saying.

"The husband cheating on her."

"It's the truth.", he gawked at John perplexed.

John was about to ask how he knew that, but let it drop. Sherlock knew. Like he knew his number, like he knew his tastes, like he knew his thoughts.

"It's the truth.", John repeated in a huff "But maybe she didn't want to know it! Not in that way!"

"She was asking her friend that!", he answered in annoyance "And her friend was lying to her! I've saved her time by telling her the truth!"

"That's not saving time! That's rude and impolite! Can't you see?", he roared.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Why was it always John who had to deal with this? He sighed and closed his eyes for a second.

"I'm sorry.", said the young man all of a sudden.

That was rather unexpected. John looked at him. Sherlock turned his head away and let out in a sigh:

"I'm not good with people."

He seemed sad. It was a very glum remark. John tried to say something, feeling the need to comfort the young man. But as he started to speak Sherlock's face brightened in the shape of a sudden realisation.

"I've got it!", he said, immediately standing up.

"Got what?"

"The house, John! I've got the house!"

And they bolted off, John still following him.

They had to walk for three hours to reach the place, because Sherlock admitted he had miscalculated the position. Then he seemed doubtful once again and they had to walk for another hour. Eventually the house was found and they hid in a dark alley near it to wait for the burglar to show up.

And it was that same alley where John was still standing after two hours and a half of waiting. Deadly cold, tired, with no other thought than the one of going home. His warm, comfortable home.

"Be right back. Wait for me here.", said Sherlock after two hours of complete silence and started to walk.

"Where are you going?", shouted John.

"I'll be back in minutes. Just wait.", he reassured.

One hour later Sherlock hadn't returned yet. John would've been worried if he hadn't been angry with him and exhausted. He cursed the young man for having abandoned him in a dark alley to freeze to death and hailed a taxi. After that awful day, all he wanted was a warm bed and to forget Sherlock Holmes for good.