The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Twenty

She nodded and crouched slightly. "One."

"Two."

"Three!"

They shot forward, shoulders brushing, arms pumping. This was going to be close. Whoever won, it wouldn't be by much. Regardless, the thought of losing was repugnant. He moved faster. If memory served him right, which it always did, the next rooftop was higher than this one. And the gap between buildings wider. Sherlock's mind flashed back to the barn and their chase through the hay bales. Vivian had failed to reach the other side then. His grip had slipped on her blood-slickened hand, and she'd fallen. This time, there was nothing soft to break her fall. Only unforgiving pavement. One misstep would kill her. Sherlock's chest tightened painfully at the thought. The rooftop was ending. They had seconds. Knowing it was too late to stop, he reached out and caught Vivian's hand, threading his fingers through hers. Electricity sparked up his arm. They jumped. Time slowed. As they arced through the air, he saw their shadows pass over five homeless men gathered around a fire in a metal bin. A blur of upturned faces, orange flames, and smoke. Sherlock's feet slammed onto the side of the rooftop, knees bending to cushion the impact, Vivian at his side. Relief and adrenaline rolled through him. Chest heaving with the need for more oxygen, he tugged her off the ledge and onto the main rooftop. Sweat dampened the back of his neck, and he sucked in breath after breath. Fortunately, Vivian's breathing was just as shallow as his own.

She arched an eyebrow at him, still panting. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Who won?"

Sherlock blinked. He had no idea. "Don't you know?" he asked, buying himself time to replay the details of their landing.

"No." She looked away. "I was distracted."

"By what?"

Her gaze dropped, and he followed it down to their clasped hands. He hadn't forgotten he was still touching her. His central nervous system wouldn't allow him to. Every nerve-ending in his body was fixated on the point of contact. Vivian's hand shifted against his own, and Sherlock's breath caught. This was far different than the other times he'd taken her hand. With their fingers linked like this, everything was closer. The hot press of her palm felt shockingly intimate against his own...almost like a kiss. Not that he had any experience with kissing, but there had to be similarities, hadn't there? His gaze rose to her lips. They were moving.

"It was the smoke."

Sherlock stared at her, lost. "What?"

"I was distracted by the smoke. It got in my eyes, and I couldn't see who landed first."

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder. The smoke was blowing in the opposite direction from them. The same way it had been during their jump. The beginnings of a smile tugged at his mouth.

"What?"

He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't help himself. "You're certain you weren't distracted by...something else?" Holding her gaze, he swept his thumb across her knuckle.

A sharp intake of breath.

Sherlock smirked.

Vivian's eyes narrowed, and her thumb slid on top of his, stilling any further movement. "Nothing comes to mind. Although there's a chance I was blinded by your massive ego."

"I've earned every kilometer of it."

"Is that so?" She lifted her chin. "Prove it, then. Who won?"

He hesitated.

Triumph paraded across her face. "You don't even know, do you?"

"No. I didn't see who landed first either. I had the same trouble as you."