The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Twenty

Five seconds later, Vivian was at his side. He increased his speed, testing her, but she matched him stride-for-stride. Their feet beat a rapid rhythm against the stone. Air rushed in and out of Sherlock's lungs. His heart pounded, muscles tensing. They approached the end of the roof. Neither of them slowed. They leapt. The red brick of the other rooftop rose to meet them. They hit the ground and continued running. Two rows of air conditioning units loomed ahead. Sherlock darted through them, vaulted over a metal railing, then pelted down a set of stairs which led to a lower tier. Vivian followed, then came alongside him as the space opened up, but instead of remaining there, she cut in front of him. There was nothing blocking her path. Why would she--? Vivian glanced over her shoulder at him, and the city lights glinted off a mocking grin. She sped ahead, laughter and jasmine in her wake. An exhilarating bolt of energy shot through Sherlock, and he bared his teeth in a fierce grin of his own. Oh, it was on. The sky, the lights, Lady London herself -- dimmed. His entire focus narrowed onto the flash of red hair in front of him. Vivian wasn't going to beat him. Not this time.

She jumped onto the next rooftop, and he raced after her. Breaths measured, muscles burning, he sprinted forward, eating up the distance between them. His hand darted out, fingertips grazing her back. Vivian shrieked and lunged away from him. Sherlock chuckled and kept at her heels. She was fast. To win, he'd need to find a way to get in front of her. Tall spindly shadows loomed ahead. Scaffolding. A wall his height ran parallel to the bones of the new structure, separating the roof into two parts. Oh yes. That could work. He ran at an angle, and using his forward momentum scrambled up the wall. Vivian was already bobbing and weaving through the scaffolding. That would slow her down. He pelted across the narrow path of the wall. Five strides later, he was even with her. She was so focused on navigating the maze of metal rods, she didn't even realize he was there. He grinned and moved faster. They were nearing the end of the scaffolding. Sherlock reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and wrapped it around his hand. Breaking ahead of her, he leapt across the small divide and caught a thick vertical bar. He wrapped himself around it, then loosened his hold. He shot down the bar in a controlled fall, slowing his descent with his hand and knees. When his feet struck the ground, he straightened and released the bar, smug in the knowledge he'd -- Vivian burst out of the shadows, and slammed into his chest.

"Ooomph!" The air rushed out of Sherlock's lungs, and he landed on the ground, arms and legs tangled with Vivian's. Unable to move, he simply lay there, gasping for air. Vivian panted into his neck, her breath a hot caress against his skin. His pulse accelerated, slowing his recovery. Clenching his eyes shut, he sucked in a lungful of air and gathered his wits. Satisfaction hummed through him. He smirked and turned his head until his mouth brushed her ear. "I won."

Vivian braced her hands on his chest and sat up, expression outraged. "You did not!"

"Yes, I did. I got ahead of you."

"So? I knocked you down. You're the loser."

"Don't be ridiculous. That's not in the rules for racing."

A snort. "We're not even using the same playbook, Sherlock, so this doesn't count." She rose to her feet, then offered him her hand.

He took it, stood, and dusted himself off. "Then we need a rematch. One with clearly defined rules."

Amusement sparkled in her eyes. "That sounds delightful." She pointed to the next rooftop. "First one to reach the other side wins. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Crystal." He smiled. "I look forward to beating you again."

"Ha! You're funny when you're losing."

They stood side-by-side, the scaffolding behind them, feet pointed toward their goal.

"On three." Sherlock said.