Another cab ride was taking John and Sherlock away from a riverbank where they had been looking over the most recent body. Sherlock had identified both the body and the killer. He had also made a strange assertion that a newly discovered painting about to be unveiled was in fact a fake. But still no phone call had come on the pink phone.

John was snuggled close to Sherlock in the backseat. Both men were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to return to Baker Street and sleep for days. But of course, with the new case, they could only assume some poor bastard was out there strapped into explosives.

Quite out of the blue, Sherlock asked the cab driver to pull over and wait a moment. He scrambled over John and out of the car. John blinked momentarily, shook his head and then struggled to keep up.

A young woman sat in front of Sherlock and John. She was dressed in a tattered and dirty sweater, faded and torn jeans, and fingerless gloves that looked like they may once have been a light shade of blue. A cardboard sign was set down on the bench beside her. "Anything helps, God bless," it read in large shaky letters. As Sherlock approached the woman help out a small cup that John assumed had a small number of coins in it.

John heard the woman ask Sherlock for any spare change. John was aware of Sherlock's lack of social skills and sympathy, but when he heard Sherlock say "What for?" he couldn't help but be shocked. What do you think it's bloody for?

"Cuppa tea o' course," the woman replied cheerily. John was reaching around to get out his wallet, but stopped as he watched Sherlock pull out his own. Sherlock handed the woman a 50 pound note and gave her a small smile, then he turned around and headed back toward the cab. John was now thoroughly confused.

Sherlock reached the cab with John on his heels, and climbed in. John attempted to enter beside him, but Sherlock blocked him. "I need you to go to Woodbridge's flat. See what you can find out about him."

It had been a long day for John, and he felt he couldn't remember ever feeling this tired before. He had visited the flat of the gallery attendant like Sherlock had asked him to do, and then he'd gone to speak with West's fiancee to show Mycroft that something was in fact being done about the missing missile plans.

Try as John might, he couldn't justify Sherlock's choices of sending him to investigate either of the crimes. Sherlock is the detective, not me. I think he made that point quite clear at the home of Connie Price. What was I thinking, the bloody cat did it. Good one John. Needless to say, John was feeling quite out of his depth.

Sherlock spotted John shambling along the pavement toward Baker Street from his cab window. As soon as he'd paid the cabbie, he jumped out and bounded over to reunite with his favorite blogger.

John was pleasantly surprised when Sherlock caught up with him, and even more surprised when Sherlock intertwined his long fingers with John's. John was so content that he didn't notice that Sherlock began steering them away from the path to Baker Street. Sherlock was gently pulling John along, and even though he was trying to focus all his attention on the case, he couldn't help the way holding John's hand made his heart skip a beat. He wanted to go back to their flat, wanted to fall asleep with John holding him. Forget the case. But he couldn't, lives were at stake.

A strong smell is what brought John out of his contentment. He looked around to see where Sherlock had lead him. The walls of the alley they were walking down were covered in graffiti, and the paths were littered with all sorts of garbage. Then John saw people in the shadows. Dozens of men and women were sitting and lying amongst the garbage. They wore dirty clothes, their hair and faces were filthy, and many of them were sleeping on heaps of garbage. A few dogs were among the people, if you could call them dogs. They were more like furry skeletons, rooting around in the trash or snuggling close to one of the people, both trying desperately to keep warm. Why did he bring me to a homeless hangout?

Evidently, Sherlock heard John's thoughts and decided now was a good time to explain. "My homeless network. These are my eyes and ears all over the city." He made a sweeping gesture at the people around them with his free hand."

"I see, so you scratch their backs and then..."

"I disinfect myself." Sherlock gave John's hand a squeeze, looking for some approval.

But praise didn't have a chance to come, because suddenly Sherlock pulled John against a wall. John tried to object but Sherlock quickly silenced him. Then John saw what they were here for, a giant shadow of a man, bent over oddly, and completely menacing. It could only be the Golem, the master assassin Sherlock had identified as the killer of the gallery attendant. Seconds ticked by with John and Sherlock clinging to each other and watching the assassin's shadow. The Golem slowly and purposefully stood upright, stilled for a moment, and then began to run.

Without hesitation, Sherlock took off after him, and of course John followed. They ran and ran, but just as they finally seemed to be gaining on the giant, he lumbered into a car and took off at full speed.

Sherlock's fist slammed against the nearest wall. "It'll take us weeks to find him again!"

John was doubled over trying to catch his breath, but suddenly he felt very useful. "Maybe not," he said through gasps. "I think I know where he's going." John quickly explained the message from the astronomy professor who had called to tell Woodbridge that he was right about something.

After John was finished explaining, Sherlock beamed at him and grasped his cheeks between his hands. He pushed forward and crashed their lips together with a wet *smack.* When he pulled away he shouted "Brilliant, John!" and then took off running into the night.

John and Sherlock were lying close together on a large stage in the middle of a lecture hall. The only light came from the paused astronomy video. The men were breathing heavily. John had a pain in his shoulder, Sherlock was sure his wrist was fractured as well as a rib or two.

The two had been too late to save the professor. They witnessed the Golem as he finished squeezing the life out of her. Sherlock ran toward the man, who was easily over 7 feet tall and built like a barn. John was trying to point his gun at the assassin, but the astronomy presentation was messed up, causing the lights to flash, making it impossible for John to be certain that his bullet wouldn't hit Sherlock also.

They had been stupid enough to try to fight the man. He almost killed Sherlock simply by squeezing him, but John had leaped onto the back of the killer, giving Sherlock a chance to grab John's dropped gun. After flinging John at Sherlock, the Golem successfully fled and escaped, leaving the two men bruised and panting.

"You alright?" John asked Sherlock.

"Yes... You?"

"I'm fine. You don't sound fine though. Let me look at you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You can look me over when we get back to the flat. Come on, let's get a cab and call Lestrade."

John wanted to object, but going home sounded too wonderful to argue. "Alright, let's go home."

Author's Note:

In the next chapter will be a more adult one. So if that's what you're here for, stay tuned. But as with the last adult chapter, this one will not contain any major plot points, so if you are not into the dirty stuff, you can skip it.

Thanks to all of you who have favorited and followed. I'm extremely grateful.

One of my biggest worries is that I'm boring you guys with stuff from the show, so if you have a chance, please leave me a review and let me know if I'm doing too much detail from the show, not enough, just enough or whatever. I hope to hear from you!

As always, thanks for reading.