Disclaimer: I own nothing
Rating: PG 13, there's two swear words... that's all really
Summary: John chases after Sherlock
John Watson huffed as he tried to keep up with his companion. He was really beginning to hate people with long legs. It wasn’t fair and Sherlock certainly wasn’t going to show him any respect and slow the fuck down.
The consulting detective had taken off from a crime scene with nary a word. Lestrade had merely raised an eyebrow before turning back to the scene. He was far to used to Sherlock’s actions to question much of anything. That itself was worrisome. Donovan was all too pleased to see him go and Anderson took the moment to start making his hypotheses about the crime scene.
Sherlock had been right. Every time Anderson opened his mouth whole streets got dumber.
It had taken John no more then 30 seconds to chase after Sherlock but by then the man had a fantastic lead. Something was certainly motivating him to book it through the streets of London after midnight.
“God damnit,” John swore when he tripped over a large piece of rubbish. His steps became uneven and wide as he attempted to right himself. The short time it took was enough for him to lose sight of Sherlock.
Leaning against a wall John took in gulps of air in an attempt to stop panting. This was ridiculous. He was in bad shape but it was becoming apparent he wasn’t in Sherlock shape either. One had to be a marathon runner to keep up with the man when he had a bone to chase.
Once he had his breath back John decided he might as well head back to the flat. If Sherlock had ran off waiting for him the man obviously didn’t need him and he really had nothing to do at the crime scene.
As he pushed away from the wall his phone beeped. Pulling it out of his pocket John frowned at the message. Straight, first left, second right, third down on the left. SH
John debated going back to the flat anyway. If Sherlock had wanted him to be with him he should have told him in the first place. The next text changed his mind. Could be dangerous. SH
John rolled his eyes. So could crossing the street. He followed the directions anyway. He found Sherlock pacing in front of a barber shop.
“What took you so long?”
“If you want someone to come with you the proper thing is to ask. Not run off and assume they’ll follow.”
“Yes, but you did.”
John huffed, “What are we doing here?”
“I need to collect hair samples, need to conduct an experiment.”
“And I had to come why?”
Sherlock tossed him a sideways glance, “Need your hair.”
“You took off from a crime scene, assuming I’d follow because you need my hair?”
“I would have thought that was obvious.”
“You, you…How the hell could that be dangerous?.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Why are you angry?”
“I just ran god knows how many blocks and…” Sherlock cut him off.
“Thirty-four blocks and you did an admiral job of keeping up until you tripped.”
John shook his head, “AND followed your directions because you need hair. You could have gotten that at the flat.”
“I need a haircut as well.” Sherlock didn’t wait for a response before entering the shop.
John vaguely wished for a closer wall. He thought he might like to bash his head it now but didn’t feel it warranted anymore moving. Psychosomatic or not his leg hurt. Instead he settled for texting Lestrade.
Nothing of interest. Flatmate has the attention span of a child. JW
As he climbed the stairs to the shop his phone went off.