Chapter Text
"Hurry, John, he's getting away!"
It's a good thing Sherlock is so tall - it's the only way John can keep up with him, bobbing and weaving through the crowd. He keeps his eyes locked on Sherlock's mass of dark, unruly curls as he ducks between confused bystanders. At one point, Sherlock turns round and John can see his lips moving. Clearly he's expecting John to be standing right there, acting as a sounding board for whatever he's going on about.
The puzzled look on his face is so alien and charming that John grins widely before turning sideways and slinking between a dumpy older woman in a hideous tartan coat and two punks trying to warm themselves over a cup of coffee. He catches up to Sherlock, who huffs irritably.
"I need you next to me, John. Stop falling behind."
John sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Not everyone is as fluid or as commanding as you are. People step aside for you - they don't even notice me."
The scowl that darkens Sherlock's features is clear and expressive. That won't do at all. Calmly, as if there's nothing remotely strange about it, he grabs John's right hand with his left and laces their fingers tightly together.
"Sherlock! We can't..." The argument is weak and dies in John's throat. He was expecting Sherlock's hand to feel light and cool, frail and birdlike, but instead it's warm and comforting and solid. Somehow, it just feels right. The last time they'd run together like this, that day that John's tried to block from his mind so many times, Sherlock was wearing gloves, and they were both running on pure adrenaline. Never mind the handcuffs. It had felt nothing like this.
Impatiently, Sherlock gives John's hand a tug and starts running again, and John snaps out of his reverie, following obediently. Eventually they work their way through the throng, earning only a few whined complaints as they accidentally bump or knock people.
Sherlock halts, eyes scanning the open street at the end of the crowd, but their quarry has evaded them. John frowns for a moment before casting a glance down to his side, where Sherlock's still tightly clenching his hand. He seems to have no intention of letting go, despite the thin veil of necessity that brought them together in the first place, and strangely, John doesn't seem to mind at all.
As if reading his thoughts, Sherlock glances sideways, smirking at John. "It's alright, we'll find him later, or Lestrade will, though I rather doubt the latter." Reassuringly, he squeezes John's hand, and the warmth between them increases tenfold, sending pleasant little shivers up John's arm and across his chest. A strange lopsided grin crosses his face as he squeezes back and Sherlock chuckles quietly before turning to face him properly.
"Ready?" He grins, gesturing towards the general direction of the man they were chasing with their tightly clasped hands.
"Oh god, yes."
And they're off again, fingers still knotted tightly together.