To the Ends of this Earth

Chapter Four

The night air was chilly and stars shone brightly above Holmes and Watson's heads as they continued to pass through alleyways and empty streets.
"Sherlock, why didn't you just get the cabbie to drop us off closer?" said John, panting slightly and struggling a bit to keep up with Sherlock's long strides.
"It's imperative that no one know we are coming," answered Sherlock. It was only a half-truth however and Sherlock also wanted the opportunity to walk with John, alone. He smiled to himself and stopped, "Walking to work isn't really helping you get in better shape is it?"
John stopped too, regarding Sherlock with an annoyed but tolerant expression. "How do you know that I walk to work?" John had carefully been taking a cab for a few blocks and then walking the rest of the way to work, just so Sherlock wouldn't find out, and perhaps be impressed with his new abilities to keep up.
"Well it's not a short walk and you always-"
"Whatever it's not important," John cut Sherlock off, a little bit bummed that his attempts had so easily foiled. He looked up at Sherlock and his heart flipped.
The consulting detective was staring at John with an extremely piercing gaze. He looked straight into John's eyes for a good thirty seconds before a devilish glint flickered over them and he broke the silence. "You can't hide anything from me," Sherlock said pointedly as he turned back around.
John stood numbly where Sherlock had left him as he tried to reset the intense beating that was coursing through his chest.

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"Ah, we're early," stated Sherlock as he checked his phone.
"We're here?" John said, staring up at the tall abandoned warehouse that Sherlock was leaning against.
"Yes we are here. It seems a tad cliché don't you think? Criminals and their abandoned warehouses, they should really opt for something a bit less conspicuous."
"Why are we early?" inquired John, leaning, then sliding down the wall onto his butt, knees propped up in front of him.
Sherlock looked down at John over his upturned coat collar, "because, their meeting is not quite over yet."
"Whose meeting?"
"It's Moriarty's meeting of course, his minions have to have some connection."
"I thought that he didn't meet his criminals in person," replied John, looking a bit confused.
"He doesn't," answered Sherlock simply, leaving John even more confused.
"I don't follow."
"Really John, when do you ever," said Sherlock with a bit more venom in his voice than he intended.
John fell silent. He wouldn't tell Sherlock but he was offended, and wished that for once he'd be able to keep up with his brilliant friend. He wished that he wasn't such a burden.

Sherlock and John waited beside each other in silence for a few more minutes until they heard Big Ben chiming in the far away night. John saw Sherlock tense and he stood up beside him.
"What is going on?" whispered John, suddenly aware of the change in the atmosphere that surrounded Sherlock.
"Meeting adjourned," he whispered in response. "Wait here a minute, I'll be straight back," and with that Sherlock slipped around the corner of the building leaving John to fend for himself.
John let out a long breath, Sherlock was so graceful, he was silent as a cat and just like one, always landed on his feet. He was like a tall dark elf, who had strange powers over the night and it's creatures. John slid back down the wall, he, unlike Sherlock, was nothing but a clumsy dwarf who had only his common sense. He felt slow and accident prone when he was around Sherlock, but he supposed that everyone felt that way when around someone who possessed such fluidity of movement and all the beauty of a male Aphrodite. John smiled to himself, he was being so ridiculous, this pursuit was heart-shatteringly futile. Every time he thought of Sherlock his heart picked up speed. Every time he pictured his angular face in his minds eye, he couldn't prevent himself from wishing that he could hold it in his hands and tell Sherlock the truth. John felt like screaming. Sherlock could never know the truth, John couldn't take the confusion in Sherlock's face, the embarrassment that he would so clearly show, and the inevitable let down. Why was he doing this to himself?
Suddenly there was a noise from beside John, he shot up, pulling out his gun and wishing desperately that he could call out for Sherlock. The noise was coming from the rusty back door of the warehouse, someone was opening it. It was scraping across the gravely concrete of the back alley, slowly with a sound like nails on a chalk board. Without further warning it flew open and there, outlined in the darkness, stood no one other than Moriarty himself.
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Whoop! I know it's a bit of a cliffhanger but I am super exited for the next chapter so it should be coming soon! I would really love to hear what's going on in your Johnlocked brains so leave a comment if you enjoyed!

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