Human Nature (Johnlock Historical)

Chapter 1

John's stomach grumbled, and he shifted on the cold stone fence, wrapping his dark coat tighter against his body to ward off the damp chill. It didn't do much, the thin fabric not much of a defense against the elements. If he got the reward, the second thing he was going to do was get a better coat. The first thing would be getting a huge dinner, with rare roast beef and a lake of gravy.

Shaking his head, he pushed aside the obsessive thoughts of food and refocused on the building beyond. It had been an hour since the man he was following had gone inside. It was very dark out, the gaslight a little too far away to provide much illumination.

Feeling sleepy, John almost missed when the slim man slipped out of the house and along the back fence, carrying a lumpy sack over his back. Jumping up, John silently followed, keeping to the shadows in case the thief glanced back, but staying close enough to not lose him in the twisted alleyways.

The thief kept a fast pace, working his way east. John struggled to keep up, his cold muscles stiff from sitting outside so long. He pushed himself hard. He needed this.

Groomed gardens and high fences gave way to crowded slums on their journey, and John moved even closer, looking for an opportunity to tackle the man. Being slightly shorter and thinner, he would have to surprise and immobilize him fast. He didn't have the strength for a long struggle.

Pulling out a length of rope, John wrapped it around his hand in readiness, adrenaline making his heart thump even faster.

Now, now... he had to move now...

He tossed the loop over the man's head, quickly tightening it against his neck, and yanking him backwards hard. The man let out a yelp, letting go of the sack, leaving it to fall to the cobbled street with a metallic clang as his hands pulled at the rope blocking his airway. John held firm, his hands burning with the ropes fibers shifting against them, pulling the man down onto his back and pinning him.

They scuffled on the filthy street, John merciless as he kneed his groin, and managed to tie the rope around one of the man's wrists, and groping for the other one. He swore as the man surged against him, shifting his body weight off balance, and seconds later the thief was running down a nearby alley.

Shaking his head, John was trembling with exhaustion as he stood up. His coat sleeve was almost torn off, his clothes wet and filthy from the fight, and he didn't have the energy to continue the chase. Opening the sack, he saw the gleam of a silver tray and felt grateful he had something to show for his night's work.

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Two hours later, he sat down on the curb and savored the rich aroma of his meat pie. The crust was golden brown and flaky, the gravy inside warm and thick. The meat chunks were small and of questionable origin, but he still gobbled down the whole pastry in under a minute. He took longer with his bottle of ale, sipping the bitter brew slowly, hoping to trick his stomach into feeling full from the small repast.

Finishing up, he ended up walking west, idly watching the crowds that were now bustling along the morning city streets. The fashions got better and better as he went, until his slovenly appearance was getting some looks of distaste in passing.

He found a low stone wall near a park, and sat down, resting his weary limbs. This area of town was so much more peaceful than the one near his bed-sit. He just needed some quiet time to collect his thoughts. Time to look at a pretty green park and to smell flowers instead of being in the slum. It wasn't long until he was listing sideways, leaning against a pillar, as he snoozed lightly.

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Sherlock hummed in contentment as he sipped his coffee and flipped to the next page of his novel. The story was becoming quite intriguing.