The Game is On

An Unexpected Turn

"My God," John immediately directed his eyes upward, to look at Sherlock's face, "What the bloody hell were you doing in there for so long?"

Sherlock looked like he hadn't even noticed anything abnormal with the situation, while John, standing a mere 5 inches away from a nude Sherlock, fought hard to control his heart rate.

"I seem to have forgotten to bring my clothing to the bathroom. I looked around there for a while, confused, just to remember I'd left them in my bedroom."

John let out a breath, trailing his eyes everywhere except down. "Can I get by?"

"Of course," Sherlock turned sideways, allowing space in the narrow hallway for John to get by.

The doctor slipped past and refrained from leaping into the bathroom. He closed and locked the door, slamming his back against it, breathing hard. John closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

'Christ John,' the doctor thought, 'Why is this so hard? Just breathe normally.'

John let out a sharp breath and directed himself toward the sink. Just before he managed to turn the tap on, a knock sounded at the door.

"John? Are you all right?" Sherlock's voice rang as he tried the doorknob.

"Fine, Sherlock. Just go get dressed." Had the detective heard all that? The slam and the ragged breathing? John hadn't thought about that.

Silence, then footsteps retreating. John breathed another sigh of relief. He had just come much too close right then, and he was happy it was over.

After washing up, John exited the bathroom and headed back to the sitting room to find Sherlock standing smack in the middle of the room. Thankfully, he was fully clothed.

He wore simple black pants, and the famed purple shirt that was a size too small.

'For God's sake Sherlock, must you make this so hard? Two run-ins this morning and now the shirt. Why, why, why did you have to pick TODAY, of all days, to wear that shirt?' John closed his eyes and exhaled. "What... What do you want?"

Sherlock strode over, the top button to his shirt left open due to the fact it was impossible to button that one up now. "Do you want to know why I got dressed so suddenly?"

"Not really, but I know you'll tell me either way."

"Because I had a hunch I'd need to."

Just when Sherlock finished, there was a knock at the door.

The two men went to open it. Sherlock beat John to the door and swung it open, revealing Lestrade.

"Why, hello. What a pleasant surprise," the detective said fakely.

"We have a case," Lestrade said flatly.

"Oh, lovely! How convenient," Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf, followed slowly by John, reaching to grab his own jacket.

"I'm afraid not, Sherlock. You won't like this case. Neither of you will."

"Nonsense. I'm bored out of my mind palace. Any case is wonderful to me at this point."

"Nope, I bet you 100 euros you won't like it."

"Fine, but have the cash ready, I don't take IOUs."

The trio climbed into a cab, ordered to go to the Scotland Yard.

Already John knew something was definitely up, because instead of going to a crime scene they just went straight to the Yard.

"That wasn't a hunch, was it?" John mused. Sherlock looked at him, "Yes it was."

"He texted you, didn't he?"

"Yes."

Sherlock held up his phone, revealing a text from Lestrade's number; "I HAVE A CASE. I'LL ARRIVE SHORTLY, BE READY."

"You liar."

"I just wanted to impress you, John."

"What?" John looked at the detective, "How? And why?"

"By making you think I was psychic, and because it's fun."

John felt there was something else, another reason, but he pressed no further.

When they arrived at the Yard, they all made their way up to Lestrade's office.

"Last night, we received this transmission. It's anonymous, and we're unable to track where it came from," Lestrade played the recording:

"Hello, Sherlock Holmes. I'm sending this as a warning, I'm coming. Not for you, however... I'm coming for John. I will take him. I will kill him. And there is nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me."