docwithablog

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[ Czech Republic. Okay, well, basic geography could perhaps draw a very straight line from Prague to Belgrade, although -- to be fair, it should take the man at least nine hours by car to get from one point to the other. However, the question remains, how long would it take the people who knew Sherlock in Serbia to get from here to there, really? Frowning, he meets the other man's gaze a long moment, wordlessly, just thinking it over. If he's playing bloody MI6 agent again, he's not doing it alone, John doesn't care how unaffected Mycroft is by the entire idea, he isn't, he just isn't, Christ.

So, he clears his throat, straightening up a bit, nodding once. ]

I'm coming with you. Don't -- [ He turns around, both because if you have to keep up with Sherlock Holmes, you better be ready to run, but also because there's something -- his eyes are -- yeah, and he has a bag to pack and he needs to go to his own room that will undoubtedly still be reeking of sex, because it's, what, an hour since they went at it there. Over one shoulder, he continues: ] -- even think about going off on your own to get your fucking fix, Sherlock.

[ He's resigning himself to a fight of some sort - their first, really as a sexual couple - when John simply turns around, proclaiming that he's coming with. For a few seconds, Sherlock's frozen in place, staring at John's turned back, his mind drawing blanks. He - but he can't -- ]

John, I -

[ Pause. Swallow. How many times hadn't he wished for John to be with him on his travels, to be the catalyst that would clear his thoughts and make everything happen twice as fast? How many times? And then, he'd been thankful as well, particularly once he found himself shackled to the walls in Serbia, that it happened to him and not to John, that he didn't have to worry about his safety on top of trying to stay alive.

( somewhere, in a very tiny corner of his mind, he'd been regretful too, knowing that John weren't coming for him )

Picking up his bag, he finally just follows John for a few steps, calling out to him as he heads for the stairs: ]

The car's waiting outside.

[ He'll have to find a way to keep John out of the loop and consequently, off the case. But so long as the man stays in Prague, plays tourist, he won't be in any real danger. Mycroft will make sure of it. Brow furrowed for another moment, he finally turns away and heads for the hallway. ]

[ Sherlock tells him that a car's waiting outside and of course, there's a bloody car waiting outside -- what did you expect? If Mycroft could land a bloody private jet on Baker Street, he'd do that, but even the British government has its limitations, apparently.

Shaking his head and blinking angrily a couple of times, the burning dying away slowly and without leaving too-obvious, embarrassing trails behind, John finds his military rucksack from the bottom of his closet, packing it quickly with the essentials for -- how long? Shit, doesn't matter, he can hit a laundromat, if necessary. His old washbag is still at the ready, packed with a toothbrush and the very, very basics. Soap. Shampoo. Shaving kit. All disposable, he can buy new stuff in Prague, presumably.

Shrugging out of his shirt with one hand, he drops passport, wallet and phone into the bag, before pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head, just for maximum comfort, if there'll be waiting time, stopovers, who even knows, not like Sherlock's telling him much as it is. He makes a face, but that's about as much time as he's willing to waste. He hurries down the stairs.

Good, guessing went pretty well earlier in the day, yes? He'll just put in a few educated ones as they go along. ]

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