psl.

[docwithablog]

the first | action
the second | random scenario
the third | action
the fourth | texting
the fifth | action
the sixth | action
the seventh | shipping picture prompt
the eighth | action
the ninth | texting
the tenth | texting
the eleventh | action
the twelfth | texting
the thirteenth | action
the fourteenth | texting
the fifteenth | action
the sixteenth | action
the seventeenth | action (unfinished)

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[docwithablog]

[ 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. ]