A/N: Dedicated to keekeebeary for asking me to update. Thanks bby.
So like. I'm writing this on a Saturday afternoon during spring break because I'm a loser and have no life.
A sea of commuters filled the dank station. A slightly-shorter-than-average man with a moustache stared straight ahead, somewhat drowsy. He was completely out of it.
So out of it that he didn't notice the man in front of him, the only other passenger. A stranger, from his almost-forgotten past.
In fact, he only began noticing the man when he winked... and opened the back door of the car.
John (for that was the short moustachioed man's name) stared in horror as the man, who looked so familiar, jumped out of the back of the car and was surely dashed against the tracks.
Yet, when John cautiously stood up and peered out where the man had jumped, he saw no movement. The car had stopped without his realization.
After only a moment of hesitation, John followed the strange man.
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He couldn't really see anything, but caught a flash of movement up ahead. He turned on his handy-dandy keychain flashlight and shined it forward.
He nearly dropped his flashlight. The man was only inches away. He beckoned and led John to a door, set into the grimy subway wall. John peered over the man's shoulder as he unlocked the door. And when the man slipped inside, John followed.
Inside the room, a dim lightbulb flickered. John's mini flashlight was brighter, so he shined it around looking for the man.
"John."
He whirled, looking for the source of that familiar voice. But... Sherlock was dead.
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There, inches from John, was the great detective. He had been disguised before, on the tube. And yet John had still felt a sense of kinship.
But that wasn't important.
"How-"
"Later, John. I've contacted you because I need your help with a case. The game is afoot."
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After a harrowing chase through the tunnels underneath London, the killer was caught. John called Lestrade, following Sherlock's cue not to mention how exactly he had found the woman responsible for ten deaths in the last week.
Sherlock smiled down at John. "Look, John," he suddenly sighed. "I can't come back just yet."
"What? Why?" John was flabbergasted and a little hurt.
"It's not time yet. When the time comes, I'll return, and I'll tell you everything. I promise."
"Sherlock. Wait..."
And then John was kissing Sherlock and Sherlock was frozen, and then, ever-so-slightly, Sherlock kissed back.
And then he was gone, melting away into the darkness. Leaving John to explain the murderer to Lestrade, and try to explain the kiss to himself.
