Chapter Text
Sherlock jogged briskly through the park, his long limbs moving easily despite the flared coat that billowed out behind him. John just kept pace, breathlessly regretting his failure to maintain his fitness in his Sherlock-free years.
"Why are we running?" He addressed the detective's back.
"Because I don't want to be late," he threw back over his shoulder. He didn't elaborate, just put on another turn of speed easily outpacing his friend. Moments later he took a sharp left around a hedge and skidded to a halt, John almost crashing into him as he too rounded the corner. "Perfect," he announced dropping onto a park bench. He had not a bead of perspiration, John noted crossly, as he struggled to catch his breath. "You're out of shape John."
"Why are we here?" John failed to hide his irritation, frowning around the park.
"We're working."
"On what? And why here?" He asked again. The children's play area was quiet, only a couple of young mothers pushing a pair of giggling toddlers on the swings.
"Because any minute now the home bell will ring in that primary school across the road, and a stream of small children will descend on this park."
"And that's important... Why?"
"Because John," Sherlock replied, finally looking at him, "I am expecting Fiona to be amongst them."
"Fiona...? You mean the little girl from the bus? I thought you'd finally dismissed her stories as a kid's over active imagination?"
"It's been preying on my mind, so I decided to find out more about her. Moriarty, or an accomplice of his, hijacked millions of screens across the country suggesting he is still alive, but all of Mycroft's resources have failed to turn up any hard evidence so far. Suddenly we have a chance meeting with a child on a bus who tells us she's his niece, and not only that, she has seen him in the flesh after he is supposed to have died. Coincidences like that just don't happen, John, the universe is rarely so lazy. She was placed in our path for a purpose, and I intend to find out why?"
Right on cue the shrill sound of an electronic bell heralded the exodus of children from the primary school. Most turned left or right, and headed up the street towards home, but more than a dozen parents escorted their offspring across the road and through the playground gates. Sherlock watched them fixedly waiting for one particular little girl, while John paced nervously beside him. "This isn't right. We shouldn't be doing this. Two grown men, loitering in a playground…" he muttered.
"Relax, John, we're not doing anything wrong. Sit down, before you attract attention. You look shifty."
"Of course I look shifty. I'm in a park without a child, with a man who thinks it's perfectly ok to stare at a load of kids. I don't think the parents are going to stop and ask too many questions about our purpose for being here, do you? Oh Christ! Some of them are watching us now? Can't we just go?"
"Hang on… look there she is!" John turned to the gate and watched a dark haired woman push a pram through the gates. Holding tightly to the handle of the pram a small dark figure with pigtails bounced alongside her and chattered excitedly. The woman nodded in response to a question and the little girl raced away into the park, squealing to a gaggle of hyperactive children who chased a ball. John couldn't help grinning to himself, thinking of the day he would be watching his own daughter having such noisy fun with her friends. The clicking of a camera shutter alerted him to the fact Sherlock was making a serious mistake. He threw himself in front of the detective and snatched Sherlock's phone from his hand.
"For god's sake Sherlock you cannot – I repeat cannot! – take photographs of other peoples' children. You are going to get us arrested! This is one of those non-negotiable things!" He hissed, holding the phone out of a protesting Sherlock's reach. Angry yells behind him, announced he was probably too late. "Crap! Run!" He hauled Sherlock to his feet and they both took off back the way they had come across the main stretch of the park towards the northern gate.
"This is ridiculous," panted Sherlock, "Why are we running away? I need to talk to that woman."
"You've seriously pissed off half a dozen parents, that's why and… oh shit…" They hurtled through the north gate just as a police car skidded to a stop by the kerb, blue lights blazing. Its two occupants leaped out and grabbed John, wrestling him to the ground, one of them forcibly removing Sherlock's phone from his grip.
"Hey!" yelled Sherlock, wading in and attempting to grab back his precious phone. The policeman allowed it to fall to the ground, instead launching himself at Sherlock's knees and bringing him crashing to the floor on top of it. Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the show by the time a second car arrived on the street. The new officers pulled Sherlock away from the furious fat policeman before he could carry out any of his threats, and bundled him into the car. John was mortified so willingly got into the other car just to disassociate himself from whatever dire warnings the detective was issuing. It was going to be another one of those days...