God, John Watson thought. Why is he taking so long? He was leaning up against a líquen ridden wall, manky with damp and mildew. John looked at his silver watch. Eleven oh three. God, Sherlock! Hurry up! He was getting impatient now. Soft padding footsteps came up behind him, along with panting. “Sorry, John. I was just checking out the...” Sherlock gasped for breath. “Ok, ok. Come on then.” John interrupted, and dragged him back to the apartment, grinning.
John tossed and turned in between his sheets, which were drenched with sweat. He gasped as he sat up in bed, breathing shallowly...
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