Sherlock stared at the business card in his hand. 1130. 1130. He glanced up to the clock on the self in the hall. The numbers flashed, 11:12. 11:12. Aha.
Sherlock threw the business card over his shoulder. He swung himself from the sofa and ran upstairs, purple dressing gown flying behind him. He stopped briefly at the calendar on the stairs, the 30th of September, the ninth month, 3009. In his room he grabbed the map of London, and threw it open across the floor.
He quickly found the coordinates for 54, 67.
He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, as he jumped in the shower. He hurried now, mentally feeling the clock ticking in his head, moving slowly to 11:22... Sherlock did not like to be late, unless it was beneficial, and this would NOT be beneficial.
He jumped from under the water and crossed back to his bedroom, hunting through the piles of clothes, throwing articles over his shoulder, where they toppled piles of newspapers. Eventually, he found his favourite shirt, which appeared recently ironed. Over the top he slipped on an old jacket, shoved his legs into trousers, which were quickly followed by some shoes, which John had insisted upon polishing last time that had been to Scotland Yard.
Back down the stairs, he told John he was going out. He was being irritating again and he knew it, but there wasn't time to care. 11:25. Down the final flight of stairs. He was early, good. He grabbed a scarf from the hat stand, and clicked the door shut behind him. The street was dark, except for the pool of yellow light from the lamps. Damp fog crawled along the tarmac, stealthy, foreboding.
Two people were watching him, he knew. From the floor above John would be looking out, to make sure he wasn't kidnapped, or run over or something else stupid. He always did that when Sherlock went out alone. He realised only now that he had picked up Johns scarf on his way out, but it was far too late to put it back.
Across the road, a woman was standing in the glow of a streetlight. He briefly took in her sleek, black dress, fierce mane of light hair, long, glittering red nails, like bloody claws. She was like an animal, dressed up in human clothing, but Sherlock wasn't complaining. He walked to her, taking his time. He stopped, just in front of her, a few inches apart; as she looked at him, head slightly to one side, a smile playing across her wide, red painted mouth.
She wrapped the fingers of one hand around his elbow, and leant forward. "I knew you'd figure it out..." and kissed him gently on the cheeks. He could feel the mark her lipstick made there, as she drew away, the same shade as on the cards... She smelled of perfume, it was warm, and inviting, yet at the same time warning, like a danger signal.
Still holding onto his elbow, she started to lead him away, knowing he wouldn't resist. The road was deserted, as always at this time of night. They walked in silence for a while, the only sound being that of the heels of her shoes, and even that was quietened slightly by the fog, which slowly grew ever thicker.
"Why?" he asked, breaking the silence suddenly, as they moved to the end of Baker Street.
"I had a weekend to kill." She answered, her voice low.
"And why me?"
"I had a weekend to kill." She smiled.
"When will you leave?"
"Will you stop moving corpses away from all their evidence?"
"Until next time I want to see you, of course."
She kissed him then, a lifetime of experience against none, her soft lips against his rough. It was firm, and although there was emotion in it, it was hard to tell which one. It was like a hot, trembling mix of love, and hatred, and interest, and excitement, and passion, and a weekend that needed killing. He hovered his hands over her waist, unsure of what to do exactly, but finally settled for resting his palms across her lower back.
After a few moments, she pulled away. "You're better than you give yourself credit for, you know."
"And how do you know how much credit I give myself?"
"I know many things about you Holmes."
She kissed him again, sliding her hand over his chest, down his arms. Feeling more confident this time, he put his hands on her hips, pulling her to him. He felt her laugh against his lips, but she did not pull away.
She pushed him backwards, gently, until his back was against a wall behind him. Swiftly, she removed his scarf, and stared on the buttons on his shirt. He wound one arm tightly around her, the other bracing himself against the wall.
This apparently was what she had been waiting for. Two things happened together, quite quickly. Firstly, a gentle whooshing noise started, somewhere just above him, like the sound of keys being carefully pulled over a piano wire. Just as he was about to break the kiss to find out what it was, he felt a soft snap of metal around his wrist.
He snapped his head back sharply, and looked down at the metal cuff that now chained him to the knocker on the door they had been standing by. He glared at her, but she simply laughed. "Oh you didn't think I'd make it easy did you. Weekend to kill sweetie, weekend to kill."
Suddenly, a voice shouted down from where the whooshing noise had stopped, a woman's voice, with a Scottish accent. "River? Where the hell are you?"
This was followed by a man's voice, who sounded irritated. "We haven't got all day to hang around rooftops you know. There's a nebula collapsing, and if I don't see the end I'll be upset."
The woman in front of Sherlock rolled her eyes as she stepped backwards, as a rope ladder dropped from above them, stopping just next to her. She picked up John's scarf from where it had fallen, and wrapped it around her head. "My love to the good doctor Sherlock." She blew him a kiss, as the Scottish voice called her again. Swiftly, she climbed the ladder, and vanished from sight.
Sherlock stared down at the cuffs. Bugger. Of all the times for this to happen. He tugged at them uselessly, and was just started to ponder staying there for the night, when the good doctor himself, appeared around the corner.
Hush, I know it's not my best, but I was tired, and distracted by glee. Thanks for reading, review and you get chocolate. PS, the ship name for Sherlock and River is Shiver ;) Love, Az x