Chapter Text
The first three groups had set off, so they had no choice but to take their places at the starting line. On one side of them was the Carlisle team, on the other the London team; Louis could have ended up among them if he had arranged his university applications differently beforehand. Both he and Sherlock were from London, but neither of them had applied to the local university's criminology department as their first choice, so they had both begun their studies at Canterbury Christ Church University the previous autumn.
In a moment of weakness, Louis had considered following his brother to Durham, but he had no place at that university. His heart called him to his family, but his inner vocation called him toward a career in the police force, and when the conflict became clearly visible in him, that same loving family helped him make the decision that had shaken him.
Louis had left the Moriarty estate and his two brothers with mild guilt but great hopes, and had begun, for the first time in his life, to become completely independent. At first he worried a great deal, though not for himself, but for his two brothers, beside whom he had always voluntarily taken on a supportive role. In his current situation, the only person he truly had to take care of was himself, and from a quiet helper he had gradually begun to become a leader.
He had never forced it, but it was obvious that Sherlock was too narrow-focused and erratic to be suited for any kind of leadership role. He did not concern himself with things that did not interest him, he was easy to provoke, and he was always two steps ahead of everyone else, yet he lacked the patience to explain his train of thought to those trying to follow him. Louis had concluded that although he resembled his brother in genius, he could not measure up to him: he lacked both the ability to pass on knowledge and the insight that would have made him suited to it.
He could not be called rule-abiding, he had always treated boundaries flexibly. His moral compass was accurate, but it constantly operated in a grey zone. Louis had his own flaws as well, but he always compensated for Sherlock's occasional weaknesses.
He was capable of remaining calm when a clear head was needed. Even if he panicked, he was capable of finding the right solution in the process, despite the fact that absolute terror was reflected on his face the whole time. In contrast, he was sometimes insensitive to the point of cruelty, and because of that he was able to remain rational; he considered the losses that came with it collateral damage.
Now, assessing the three of them, nothing of the sort presented itself. A mostly calm two-kilometre stretch awaited them, ending inside the tree line, and judging by the condition of the path, it looked like an easy warm-up. They could jog, conserving their strength for later, because in completing the championship not only the time mattered, but also the total number of points received for the theoretical tasks.
All three of them were intelligent and well-read, but in this area Sherlock's knowledge was the least reliable. He read a great deal and was full of facts, but his interests changed so randomly that he did not consider certain parts of the curriculum important enough to remember.
Louis trusted himself, and remembered that Cathy had also answered well on the last exams for the most part. He was thinking about the basic principles of criminal investigation when the starting signal sounded, and they all set off.
Sherlock was beside him. They let Cathy move one step ahead of them so that she could set the pace and so that they would not block her view of any potential obstacles. The girl's dark ponytail swung rhythmically from side to side as she began to run, and swept across her shoulder when she turned slightly toward them and warned them about a shallow depression in the road.
Louis was listing the characteristics of a good detective in his head as he hummed and stepped over the hole without breaking his rhythm. Sherlock was quiet beside him. His gaze was fixed ahead, scanning for the likely obstacles of the next hundred metres over Winters' head.
The two members of the London team pulled ahead of Sherlock on the steeper side of the path near the water. As the trail widened, Sherlock and Louis were able to move more comfortably beside each other, still following the girl at a distance of two steps.
They were soon past the first kilometre, and by then Cathy had begun breathing more heavily. Noticing this, Sherlock encouraged her:
“Just a little more and we're there, okay?” His breathing remained steady as he spoke, but he let the final words trail off into a quiet sigh.
Cathy understood and accepted it, in any case. She did not speak so as not to worsen her own chances, but turned toward them and nodded, then once again only her ponytail was visible as she tried to find her way back to her previous pace.
Louis and Sherlock often talked when they ran together in the evenings; in the mornings neither of them felt like chatting yet. In the evenings it carried no stakes, but now a conversation would only have needlessly frustrated the girl.
Louis took into account that what the two of them were accustomed to would have been taxing for Cathy, so they communicated only through glances. When he looked at Sherlock, he detected the first mild signs of exertion on him, but his partner's smile was reassuring, and Louis faintly returned it.
Sherlock swept back a few strands of hair that were too short to tie up properly and were now stuck to his temple.
Louis had to force himself to pay attention after he himself had warned his companions about the terrain's peculiarities earlier. He was not on one of the roads crisscrossing the university, nor at the edge of the city where he could run peacefully, even with his eyes closed, but on a path he was treading for the first time in his life, and he did not need an injury because his gaze had lingered on his roommate for too long. Sherlock's presence was reassuring nevertheless, even if he could see him only from the corner of his eye. He could hear him breathing; Louis adjusted his own breathing to it, and eventually their steps also fell into sync. Meanwhile, the sparse trees separating the path from the water cast shade over them, breaking up the blue sky. The flickering sunlight shining through the foliage occasionally blinded all of them completely.
Cathy stopped at the first checkpoint, panting and bracing herself on her knees, three metres away from the two members of the London team, and even farther from the first student from the University of Cumbria, who appeared to be the most composed of them all. He kept glancing toward the trees and waiting for his teammates; the Londoners were doing the same when Sherlock and Louis arrived right behind the girl.
They were the last to arrive, but also the first team to appear at the checkpoint at full strength. So after all of them had caught their breath and taken a few sips of water, one of the instructors present began bombarding them with questions.
The questions concerned the fundamentals of criminal investigation and reminded Louis of a multiple-choice test. There was no connection between them, and although there was a list in front of the instructors, the detective who stopped before them did not even glance at it before she began questioning them.
“What is the surprised invasion of a building or area or an attack of a limited territory on a small scale?”
“Raid,” said Sherlock without a moment's thought, not even waiting for the final syllable to fade from the instructor's lips. The detective nodded and continued.
“Next: a method of locating a spot in the area by measurements from two or more reference points.”
“Triangulation,” Cathy answered as she straightened up and adjusted her hair. Louis was already opening his mouth, but the girl beat him to it; they would have said the same thing, but Moriarty let it go. Neither she nor Sherlock had made a mistake so far.
“Excellent,” the detective nodded. “Next: what are the major goals of criminal investigation?”
“Determine whether a crime has been committed. Legally obtain information and evidence to identify the responsible person. Arrest the suspect. Recover stolen property. Present the best possible case to the prosecutor.” Despite how difficult it was for her to regain her breath, Cathy was able to answer calmly and accurately. Sherlock exchanged a glance with Louis, who shook his head. Winters excelled at theory, they let her continue to shine.
“What is the definition of crime?”
“The intentional commission of an act usually deemed socially harmful or dangerous and specifically defined, prohibited, and punishable under criminal law,” Cathy answered, then cast a glance at the boys standing beside her. Sherlock nodded and Louis gave her a nod as well, encouraging her to continue, despite the fact that any of the three of them could have given the answer. The detective noticed that she was speaking primarily with the girl, but once again addressed the question to all of them.
“One last one: what is the purpose of interrogation?”
“To obtain confession, to discover pertinent details and to induce admission,” said Sherlock when he caught the instructor's gaze. He received an approving nod, upon which Winters let out a relieved sigh, while Louis closed his eyes in relief.
Everything was going perfectly, as if they were reading from a textbook. They had seen and heard the questions and answers a thousand times before, but they could still present a challenge after the physical exertion.
The detective praised them and handed the team members the card awarded for the first checkpoint, which was necessary for successfully completing the championship. She also recorded the points they had received for their answers beside their arrival time, then sent them on their way.
While the brief question-and-answer session had been taking place, the London team had also begun their own examination, and a minute later the final team was complete as well. Winters, Holmes, and Moriarty, however, had gained a lead of several hundred metres before the others could even set off after them, so they were not worried about falling into any significant disadvantage during the next stage.
“You were amazing,” Louis remarked when they were already deep among the trees and the sunlight could no longer penetrate the canopy so easily. The water had disappeared from view, and the air had grown cooler. For a short while they were surrounded only by the sounds of their own footsteps and breathing; the other two teams had not yet managed to catch up to them.
“If I'd let you get a word in, Louis, we'd be saying the same thing to you now.” Winters turned toward the blond with a guilty expression, but Louis did not seem disappointed.
“Do what you're good at,” he replied, cutting short any further explanations before the girl ran out of breath. “Sherlock and I may have known the correct answers just as well, but you were faster, and that counts for a lot.”
He tried to speak calmly, but after the brief rest the running required a degree of concentration, so Louis did not force the conversation any further. Meanwhile, the path curved slightly and the trees began to thin out. After the narrow strip of woodland they reached a sort of clearing, where an obstacle course had been set up, similar to the one they had already had the opportunity to try several times on university grounds.
Three rows of tyres had been laid out on the ground, which they had to run through by stepping into them before reaching the next obstacle, a low netted frame that could only be passed by crawling underneath it.
After another short run, the next obstacle had to be crossed by hanging and traversing for five metres. The hanging section had to be completed by gripping wooden rods threaded onto chains, whose movement presented an additional challenge, while their height far exceeded that of the playground counterpart that would have provided excellent entertainment for any child.
The final obstacle was a climbing wall with a rope attached to one side. The other side could be descended carefully, though it would also have been possible to jump down. It was not particularly high, but it was completely vertical, so getting up was not easy either, and the descent could easily become time-consuming. This stood in the final third of the two-kilometre section, and the checkpoint was already visible in the distance beyond the last obstacle.
The proper progression was supervised by an organizer on each side. There was little room to bypass the obstacle course, but the possibility existed, and both organizing schools insisted on fair competition. There were no strict rules regarding how the students should get across the obstacles. The only requirements were that they not cut across the designated route and not accept outside assistance; everything else was left to their abilities and imagination.
*
They arrived at roughly the same time, and without discussing it, Sherlock took the lead so that at least one of them would be able to turn back if Cathy ran into trouble with the obstacles. Winters understood what he was doing and did not take offense. She felt safer between the two of them than she would have if she had continued leading the group herself. Although this was not about speed but agility, they had no way of knowing how Cathy would handle the varied challenges, and they did not want to take any risks.
Sherlock ran easily through the tyres laid out on the ground, and from behind Louis could see that the girl followed with similar skill, though with slightly more graceful movements. Her feet were smaller than theirs, making it easier for her to find room inside the tyres.
The two short dark ponytails blurred together before his eyes as he followed them; his vision swayed slightly after crossing the obstacle. When he made it through the tyres and threw himself onto his stomach in front of the crawling obstacle, he was not certain whose shoes he saw disappearing beneath the wire-covered frame.
He was moving beneath a long metal frame covered with camouflage- and NATO netting, which allowed even less light through than the canopy overhead. It took a little time for Louis' eyes to adjust to the dimness and for him to see everything properly in front of him.
The colours faded, but he could be sure Sherlock was ahead of him when he heard a yelp from him, followed by a muffled curse.
“What's wrong?” Louis asked when his arm bumped into his partner's shoe. Sherlock writhed vigorously in front of him and tried to turn around, but the space was too narrow for him to do so, and he could barely raise his arm above his head. He must have banged something, because he cursed again.
“My hair's caught!” he hissed.
Louis tried to back out from beneath the frame to free him, but that would have cost them an enormous amount of time. They were already two-thirds of the way through the crawling obstacle; he would have had to wriggle back roughly two body lengths and then complete it all over again. He hoped Cathy had already made it out on the other side and had heard Sherlock's complaint as well.
“Cathy!” he shouted after her, his voice mingling with the sound of rapid footsteps. Another team had arrived at the obstacle course and begun moving through the adjacent lane. Louis could only determine that there were several of them; he could not tell whether their own teammate was still nearby.
“I'm coming, guys!” Winters' voice called from farther away, then to Sherlock: “Where are you? I can't see you!”
“There are three posts still in front of me,” Sherlock hissed, the number of supports holding up the frame being the only point of reference he could provide. Cathy ran over and began searching among the leaves of the camouflage net and the coils of barbed wire.
“Stay still, Sherlock, it'll be done in a second.” Cathy found Sherlock's ponytail and began disentangling it from the net, while her teammate endured the process with his mouth tightly shut. He hissed once when the girl tugged his hair, but after that he was free and soon emerged from the far side of the frame.
He quickly scrambled to his feet and brushed the dirt from his elbows and trousers. Louis could still see his legs in front of him before he crawled out from beneath the frame and was finally able to continue as well.
“Don't wait for me, go!” he was saying to Winters just as Louis crawled out from beneath the tangle of nets and stood up on the far side of the obstacle. Cathy nodded and left Sherlock behind as he adjusted his ponytail, and Louis silently left him behind as well while he finished.
It was only a few seconds, but it mattered how much ground they covered during that time. Sherlock, however, did not truly fall behind, and at the hanging obstacle he managed to catch up with both of them.
He was better at it than Louis, so he let him follow Cathy before climbing up himself. The girl was already nearing the end of the obstacle, moving through the swinging bars without any pause. She gripped the holds tightly and, using her momentum, landed a good metre and a half beyond the obstacle, close to the climbing wall.
Sherlock followed and boosted her up to the middle of the wall so she could catch the rope as high as possible, then climbed after her. Louis followed them, not bothering much with the densely spaced handholds. He only grabbed every second bar, so he could cover the long distance in significantly less time.
The hanging section strained his arms, but there was only one more obstacle where he had to use them, and Louis was not worried about it. The climbing wall was not high enough to cause problems, but it lacked the familiar handholds and footholds they had used before.
It was a bare, vertical plank wall with a tightly fixed rope, which Sherlock was just releasing after swinging one leg over the top. For a moment Louis still saw him sitting astride it, then he brought his other leg over the wall as well and, supporting himself on both sides, lowered himself down. At that point his feet were just over a metre above the ground, and he probably landed hard, but he moved on without hesitation, following Winters. The girl was already fifty metres ahead at the last obstacle.
Sherlock must have told her he was catching up, Louis thought, and he did not blame him.
It was true, and he did not want to disappoint them. Halfway up, he grabbed the rope and began to climb, pulling himself to the top of the obstacle.
As he had expected, the other side was empty. No matter how carefully he chose to descend, he would have to jump in the end.
Like Sherlock, he tried to ease himself down, but his foot got stuck at the top of the plank. Louis managed to free his shoe, but lost his balance and, letting go of the edge of the wooden wall, toppled forward. He had time to turn away, so he softened the fall, but still landed on his backside in grass covering hard, dry ground.
Louis groaned, then let out another pained sound as he picked himself up and rubbed his backside. Of the two instructors, the closer one immediately came over, but Louis dismissed the offer of help. Cathy and Sherlock both noticed the noise and turned back toward him.
“I'm fine, I don't need treatment,” Louis insisted to the supervisor, who led him away from the obstacle. Louis clenched his teeth. They had lost valuable time because of the accident. He kept glancing at his teammates, who had returned from the path.
“Are you okay, Louis?” Cathy asked anxiously, and Moriarty nodded through pressed lips.
“Can you continue?” he heard Sherlock ask, to which he again replied with an affirmative nod. Sherlock then turned to the instructor. “If he says he's fine, we continue. You'll rest at the checkpoint.” He did not wait for confirmation or his partner’s agreement when he put an arm around Louis’s waist and simply threw him over his shoulder.
Cathy stared at them in disbelief, but Holmes waved her onward impatiently. The girl did not stop to argue, unlike Louis.
His partner followed Cathy at a slow jog, gripping Louis’s thigh to keep him from slipping off his shoulder; the extra weight did not seem to bother him at all. Louis tried to turn, but Sherlock held him firmly. He realised there was no point in struggling before he even properly tried; it would only worsen all three of their chances.
“Put me down, Sherlock,” he kept repeating, but his partner acted as if he had not heard him. “Listen, I can walk. I didn't land on my legs!”
“You'll show me later, Lou, but I'd rather reach the end of the section now.” Sherlock let out a deep breath and adjusted him again when he started to shift sideways. “Are you cursed, by the way, that you always have accidents next to me?”
“You're more likely the cursed one, if it's about time spent with you,” Louis remarked dryly, but even that played into Sherlock’s hands.
He only wanted to distract him so he would finally stop resisting until they reached the checkpoint, and Louis truly did not try to get back on his feet for the remaining hundred metres.