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Well-Timed Distraction

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Sherlock was pouting. And shivering.

“Makes no sense,” he muttered, his breath coming in white puffs.

“Like sending the cab off?” John suggested, shoulders hunched against the cold.

They were trudging down the road, hoping for a passing car that might give them a ride to town before they both got hypothermia. Or worse.

Sherlock only grumbled in reply to John’s implied criticism. Admittedly, Sherlock wasn’t often out thought by the people he was hunting. At least not in John’s limited experience. Which meant their quarry was smarter than either of them had considered.

“So where does he go, now that he knows you’re on to him?” John asked. The best way to distract Sherlock was to get his brain working.

“How am I supposed to know?” Sherlock snapped. “This bloody cold is freezing all my neural pathways. I’m losing valuable IQ points by the moment and we’ll never –”

Afterwards, John wasn’t sure why he did it. Sure, the thought had been on his mind more and more, but walking down a snow-covered road in the middle of the night in a place with the unlikely name of Badger’s Drift wasn’t exactly the ambience he’d been going for.

John’s lips were so numb he almost couldn’t even feel that first kiss. He was nothing if not persistent, though, and Sherlock had a well-known competitive streak, so by the time that tongues became heavily involved John was feeling pretty thawed out. Sherlock kissed with the same attention to detail that made him such a good detective.

His gloved hand on the back of John’s neck was unexpectedly exhilarating.

John found himself blinking stupidly at Sherlock when the other man pulled away, taking the warmth with him.

“Yes, of course!” Sherlock exclaimed. “How did I not see it sooner? Come along, Sheppard. He’s getting away.”

“What?”

“Do keep up.”

He gave John a heated look before getting underway again. John followed, licking his lips and feeling just a little smug.

“So did he go back to the farm?” John asked. He could tell without looking that Sherlock was giving him a side-eye.

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“I’m not just another pretty face, you know,” John said, jokingly.

Sherlock’s reply was a solemn, “Of course you’re not.”

If John’s face wasn’t numb from the cold he’d probably be blushing. He couldn’t wait to show Sherlock what else he could do.