𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐖- 𝐒. 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒

V. Always alert.

After a few hours, you got down at Canterbury. Now, you and John were waiting for Sherlock to tell you the plan.

Suddenly, you felt someone tugging at your sleeve, and when you turned around, you saw Sherlock pointing at the train line.

''See? He is already here'' he said and pointed to something.

On the line, a train could have been seen flying towards the station. You, Sherlock and John hid after a pile of luggage. You watched silently as the train passed with a rattle and a roar, blowing hot air in your faces.

''There he goes. You see, there are limits to our friend's intelligence. It would have been a master hit if he had deduced what I deduced and acted accordingly'' Sherlock stated smugly.

''And what would he do? Had he overtaken us?'' you asked.

''There can not be a least doubt that it would have been a murderous attack upon me. It is, however, a game that two can play. Anyway, let's go'' Sherlock said.

You made your way to Brussels that night, and spend two days there, moving on the 3rd day to Strasbourg.

On the Monday morning, Sherlock had telegraphed to the London police, and in the evening, you found a reply waiting for you at your hotel.

He tore it open, and after he read it, with a bitter curse he hurled it into the fireplace.

''I should have know it! He has escaped!'' Sherlock yelled, running his hand over his face, clearly nervous.

''Moriarty?'' John asked

''They have the whole gang secured with the exception of him! Of course, when I left the country, there was no on to deal with him!'' Sherlock growled and kicked a near empty bottle, sending it flying into a wall, and the bottle shattered.

His hand were balled into tight fists and his jaw clenched, and he was looking like he was going to kill someone.

You sat down next to him on the couch, and took his hands in yours, uncurling every finger and holding his hands.

He gripped your hands tightly, but quickly let go of your hands when he realized he may be hurting you.

''I think you'll go back to London, Y/N'' Sherlock said after a while.

''Why?''

''The man's occupation is gone. He will devote his time and energy to destroy me. Also, he may be harming you... and I can't afford that'' he finished with a heavy sigh.

He looked into your eyes with so much sincerity. You locked eyes with him, and stared into each other's orbs for a few minutes. Until your eyes landed on John, who was watching the whole scene in amusement. You gave him a questionable look, and he shrugged, smirking under his bushy mustache.

You talked with John, and he was agreeing with you. You couldn't leave Sherlock alone while facing a dangerous criminal.

The two of you argued with Sherlock a good half of hour, until he finally gave up.

In the same night, you resumed your journey, and you were on your way to Geneva.

For a charming week, you wandered up to the valley of Rhone, and then, branching off at Leuk, you made your way to the Gemmi pass, still deep in snow, and so, by the way of Interlaken, to Mereingen.

It was a lovely trip, the dainty green of the spring below, the virgin white of the winter above, but it was clear to you that Holmes never forgot the shadow that lay upon him. In the homely Alpine villages, or in the lonely mountain passes, you could still tell by his quick glances around him and his sharp scrutiny at every face that passed you, that he was well convinced that, walk where ever you could, you couldn't walk yourself clear out of the danger.

Once, you remember, when you passed over the Gemmi, and walked on the border of Daubense, a large rock dislodged from the ridge in your right, and clattered down, falling in the lake behind you.

In an instant, Sherlock wrapped a hand around your waist protectively, and the other went to the gun that was in his pocket, looking in every direction.

He left go of your waist and raced up on top of the ridge, and standing on a lofty pinnacle, he craned his neck in every direction.

In vain your guide tried to assure him that a fall of stones was common in that spot at springtime.

He said nothing, just smiled at you with the air of a man that saw the accomplishment of what he had expected.

It was the 3rd of March when you reached the little village of Mereingen where you put up at the Englisher Hoff, then kept by Peter Steiler.

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