John, Simza, and Y/N were currently sitting in a cafe near the Eiffel Tower, waiting for Sherlock. He had told them he needed to do something, muttering something about Moriarty, and told them where to meet. The trio was getting more nervous with each passing second.
"He's twenty minutes late," Y/N muttered, fingers nervously tapping against the table they were sitting at.
"He must come soon," Simza said, watching the police officers around. "I don't have any papers."
"And Y/N and I are both foreigners," John added.
"This climate is exactly what my father wants," Y/N said.
Sherlock suddenly appeared at the table with a tray of food. He cleared his throat to gain the trio's attention. "The omelet fines herbes was divine..." he said, sitting down beside Y/N. He had a napkin bucket into his coat. "...but they spared every expense on the tea. Now shall we compare moods, or consider what we know? Last night's bombing was clearly meant to look like Germany's retaliation for Strasbourg. However, the bomb was also meant to conceal the murder of just one man. The man killed by the gunshot was none other than Alfred Meinhard."
John exhaled sharply. Simza looked to him for an answer as to who the man was. "He makes guns," John explained. "Big guns."
"Moriarty was always trying to get into Meinhard's business," Y/N said.
"Only days ago, a large share of his company was bought by an unknown investor," Sherlock added.
"And I guess he finally did it."
"The clues point in one direction, but to avoid repeating last night's debacle, I was obliged to collect more sufficient data, hence my tardiness."
Sherlock then went on to explain how he disguised himself as a patron at the hotel Moriarty was staying at and a bell hop. How he tried to get something off of Moriarty but was unable to. Luckily, Moriarty found time to indulge his little habit.
"His habit of feeding that urban species, the feral pigeon," Sherlock said. John reached over and ripped off what was left of Sherlock's disguise on his face. "So, there are seven mainline railways stations in Paris. But taking 10 minutes to get to the Jardin des Tuileries, where the largest concentration of the winged vermin may be found, reduces there to one, the Gare du Nord. Where he will be just in time to catch the 11:04 train to Berlin. It makes several stops along the way. One of which is—"
"Heilbronn," John and Y/N interrupted together.
"Exactly where we must go."
"Where Meinhard's factory is," John explained.
"It's Moriarty's factor now," Y/N said.
"Unfortunately, due to the bombing, the crossing between France and Germany is to be closed," Sherlock informed. "I'm afraid our pursuit is over unless we can happen upon a comrade, who knows their way around borders." John, Sherlock, and Y/N eyed Simza.
~~~
Simza got Joh, Y/N, and Sherlock looking more like gypsies before letting them into some woods.
"Too English," Simza told John as she took his hat and replaced it with the one on her head.
"However, you do make a fantastic gypsy," Sherlock complimented John. He leaned over to Y/N's ear. "Not as fantastic as you though, my dear." Y/N rolled her eyes and walked up to the line of horses awaiting them.
"Certainly smell like a fantastic gypsy," John complained.
"Now, now, no need to be demeaning."
"It is a nice scarf," Simza's friend, Tamas, from the other night said, coming up to them. He held out the scarf he had taken from John.
"No, no, too English," John said. "It'll suit you more."
As the came to the horses, Sherlock reached out and took Y/N's hand. She could tell that he was tense. Her brows furrowed as she glanced over at him. He had a straight face.
"Black one is yours," Simza told John. "Gray one is mine. The brown one is Y/N's. And this is for you." Sherlock's hand gripped Y/N's tighter.
"Um... hmmm. Right," Sherlock hummed. "Where are the wagons?"
"The wagon is too slow. Can't you ride?"
"It's not that he can't ride," John answered. "How is it you put it, Holmes?"
"They're dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle," Sherlock responded. "Why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?"
Y/N bit back a scoff. "Sherlock, you're scared of horses?" She questioned.
"I'm—It's not—" The feeling of Y/N's lips against his cheek stopped his stammering.
"It's okay. I like knowing that the great detective has a fear."
"Hmm. I shall require a bicycle, thank you very much. It's 1891. Could've chartered a balloon."
Sherlock released Y/N's hand and walked away. Simza turned towards John and Y/N.
"How can we make this more manageable?" John asked.
Y/N sighed slightly and turned to glance back at Sherlock. "I think I have an idea," she said. "Just get yourselves situated and I'll deal with Holmes."
John gave Y/N a nod before she headed over to Sherlock. He was facing away from the group, smoking a pipe.
"Have you come to tell me that a balloon or a bike is on its way?" Sherlock asked.
"No," Y/N replied. "I've come to tell you that the fastest way to Germany right now is by horse. And we need to get there quickly."
"I understand that. But I will not get there on a horse."
"Sherlock, you have no other option." He sighed slightly, reached out, and took one of his hands. "Would you feel better if you rode with me?" She began rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. "I know I would."
Sherlock took his pipe out of his mouth with his free hand. He glanced passed Y/N at the horses. He really didn't enjoy the idea of riding those beasts, but if he had a chance to have his arms around Y/N. It would be completely worth it.
"And you would be in control of the thing?" Sherlock wondered.
"Yes," she smiled, "you would have to ride behind me. Would that be okay?"
"My dear," he pulled her in, "I don't think you understand what that would do to me." His face was right in front of hers, almost teasingly so.
She inhaled sharply, her body itching to be closer to Sherlock. To be touching... skin to skin. "I think I have any idea..."
His lips quirked up slightly. "Hmm." Sherlock leaned in and kissed Y/N softly.
"We've got to go," Y/N said against Sherlock's lips.
"Yes, we do." He kissed her again.
Y/N smiled as she pulled back, still holding his hand. "Let's go meet the horse." Y/N squeezed his hand as she led him to the horse. "Here," she changed her grip on his hand so that she was holding his wrist. She guided his reluctant hand onto the horse. He kept his hand in one place. "You know, horses can sense fear."
"I'm not scared."
"Sure." She nodded, unbelieving. "Now, are you going to help me on or do I need to help you?"
Sherlock put his pipe in his mouth and his hands quickly found Y/N's hips. She inhaled sharply at the way her body was reaching to his hands on her kips. He lifted her up and allowed her to get situated on the horse before putting his pipe away and timidly getting on behind her. Sherlock's arms snaked around Y/N's waist as she took the reins. Y/N bit her lip at the sensation of Sherlock up against her, holding her close. Sherlock could tell what the closeness was doing to Y/N, it was doing similar things to him as well. He leaned forward and put his mouth near her ear.
"Is this okay?" He asked.
"It's... fine," she breathed out. "Perfectly fine."
"Let's head out!" Simza ordered the group.
Y/N signaled for her horse to move and followed behind John. As soon as the horse began moving, Sherlock's grip tightened around her.
"You sure you're not scared?" She teased.
"Not with you with me, darling," he replied.