They walked a little ways, keeping their heads down and their bags low, so that no one thought to give them a second look. For a dead boy and his companion, they looked rather normal, clean, well-rested, well fed. Well, alright, John looked normal. Sherlock looked like a walking nightmare, but his hair did look good this morning. They reached the convenience store before the cop made his round again, sneaking into the shop while the door rung a little bell to alert the cashier of their presence. John smiled as politely as he could, but he could see the clerk eyeing Sherlock more than John, probably because Sherlock was as white as death with bags under his eyes and a permanent moan on his face.
"Alright, just get canned stuff alright, beans, fruit, vegetables, portable okay?" John muttered, wandering over to the smoking section and picking out a rather cool looking lighter with flames all along the handle. He also grabbed a container of Advil for Sherlock and two refillable water bottles, along with two disposable ones. Then he wandered back over to where Sherlock was having a difficult time picking out canned pineapple or canned peaches, staring at the cans, one in each hand, as if the pictures would somehow help.
"Which one do you think?" he wondered, holding up the cans for John to see.
"Get them both, I don't care, we need to be quick." John insisted. Sherlock smiled, dropping both of the cans into a little basket he had found, along with canned chick peas, green beans, and corn.
"John I don't see how we're going to survive on canned beans." He muttered. "Especially when we only have like five cans."
"We'll figure it out, we'll compromise, and we've got all of those shells, and my dad taught me how to hunt." John pointed out.
"Oh so you're going to shoot us a deer for dinner then?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"Shut up Sherlock, we'll figure it out. I'll go check out, give me the money and stay here, that cashier was giving you a rather nasty look." John decided. Sherlock nodded, switching out the basket for John's bag and handing him the wadded up ball of cash.
"Why me?" Sherlock wondered, and John just stared at him with a rather guilty face, and Sherlock broke into a little smile. "I'm kidding, I look horrible, go pay for your beans." He insisted, shushing John away with a laugh. "And get breakfast!" Sherlock added as John turned the corner, grabbing a box of donuts from the rack as he passed. John stepped up to the register with a smile, handing the cashier all of their items and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while buying cans of food and water. It looked pretty shady to be honest. The cashier was just putting away the canned pineapples when the bell on the door rung, another costumer. John wouldn't have cared less if he hadn't looked who had come through the door, freezing in horror when he saw one of the officers come in. He was wearing his blue uniform and he had a rather bushy mustache hiding a youthful face. John was fully prepared to run as the officer came at him, prepared to knock him into the shelves and scream at Sherlock to run when the officer walked right past, staring at the choices of donuts from the same shelf John had bought his. John's legs felt numb as he kept his attention fixed on his total, listening to the rattling of the officer's handcuffs hanging from his belt as he walked up to the line. John felt as though he were under a spotlight, he could almost feel the cop's judgmental eyes on the back of his head. He only hoped Sherlock was smart and stayed behind the aisle, where the officer wouldn't recognize him.
"Where are you going kid?" he asked with a laugh, watching as the cashier rung up the water bottles and canned beans. John felt his face go white, but he kept his head down, worried that if the police officer saw his face he might know immediately who it was.
"Me? Oh, camping." John muttered, which sounded like a likely excuse.
"Camping? At this time of year?" he wondered with an unnecessary laugh.
"It's late spring, why shouldn't I go camping?" John wondered, his voice shaking just a little bit as he handed the cashier his money ($54.75).
"Do you watch the news kid? With all those dead people going psycho I'd stay at home, safe and sound with a nice pistol." He decided, and the cashier chuckled in agreement.
"Well, just because other people have zombie issues doesn't mean I can't go on my annual camping trip with my family." John muttered, grabbing the bags and starting for the door.
"Alright, well, enjoy your trip, try not to get eaten." The officer said with a laugh. John kept his head down and walked as quickly as he could to the door, hoping that Sherlock would join him as soon as he heard the bell tinkle. Thankfully as the officer was buying his donuts Sherlock and John slipped out of the store, toting their bags down the sidewalk and jogging as quickly as they could away from the police cruiser parked on the side of the sidewalk.
"Was that a police officer?" Sherlock asked fearfully as they started down a deserted side street, heading off to the edge of town. It was definitely a shady spot, with garbage littering the sides of the cracked street, cement buildings on either side of them with metal fire escapes looming above.
"Ya, a real jerk too." John agreed, skirting away from a dumpster with some mysterious black bags sticking from the top of it.
"Oh my god, you could've gotten arrested!" Sherlock exclaimed, sounding more amazed than worried.
"Ya, well, good thing you stayed with the canned pineapples." John decided.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock wondered, sounding rather insulted.
"It means that you would've panicked, and he might've recognized you." John pointed out.
"Ya well....fine." Sherlock snapped, as if that were the best comeback he could think of. Of course John was right, and they both knew that. "I saw you get donuts, could I have one?" he wondered.
"Once we get to the river we can have a donut." John decided.
"Why the river, why not now?" Sherlock whined.
"Because that officer is going to realize soon that I wasn't going camping, and they're going to start coming after us, and I don't think after all of that cat and mouse getting caught in an alley behind a dumpster sounds very epic." John insisted.
"The cops are eating their own donuts in their car." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well that just gives us more time, doesn't it?" John asked, and Sherlock hummed in agreement.
"Thank god for stereotypes." He decided. It took them about twenty five minutes to hike out the same dirt road to the chasm that was the river, cutting through the landscape and roaring below. John and Sherlock craned their necks, looking below them into the ravine and trying to determine the best way down.
"Why don't we just jump?" John suggested, and Sherlock shrieked, jumping back from the edge as if worried John might push him.
"You wouldn't do that again, would you?" he asked nervously, relaxing a bit when he saw John laughing.
"I mean, it was a little bit fun, but no, not really. Once is enough." John decided.
"There's the trail, over there, you can see our footprints from last night." Sherlock pointed out, walking a couple of feet over to where there was the small little path from yesterday. It looked a lot more threatening and lot more narrow when they were going down, especially when they had shopping bags and duffle bags dangling from their arms. More than once John had to grab the side of the rock in fear, steadying his wobbling feet and making sure he didn't get to the bottom the hard way. Sherlock was seemingly a lot slower this morning, lagging behind and moaning about his aching head the entire way down. Finally John reached the bottom, jumping off the path and into some muddy rocks next to the river bank. Sherlock appeared moments later, dropping his bag and sitting against the shale, holding out his hand as if there was no explanation necessary. Then again, John didn't have to ask, he already knew what that hand meant; donuts. So he dug the box out of one of the yellow shopping bags, opening it up and smelling the mini powdered sugar goodness. Sherlock took three in one hand, stuffing a whole donut in his mouth and chewing with satisfaction, powdered sugar already lining his lips. John ate one and watched as the river water bounced over the rocks, knowing that they had to cross the river and go back up the other side if they wanted to make it to the woods. The problem was that he couldn't find any sort of footpath going up the other side, as if the townspeople weren't overly interested in the woods that stretched just a river away. It was going to be a lot more complicated going up if you don't even know where you're going.
"My head hurts, can I take one of those pills?" Sherlock wondered between donuts, looking at John seriously. John of course had to burst out laughing, not because of his request but because he had somehow managed to get powdered sugar caked up in his eyebrows. He had another donut while Sherlock took the pill with some of the bottled water, staring at the opposite side and trying to map up the best possible way to get across.
"This is going to be difficult." John decided.
"Do we have to go to the woods?" Sherlock wondered.
"Where do you suggest?" John asked, getting to his feet and helping Sherlock up.
"I don't know, my mom's friend's divorced husband's house? I doubt the police would think to look there." Sherlock decided.
"And how do you suggest we get there?" John wondered.
"I don't know, steal a car or something?" Sherlock suggested. John just glared at him, trying to get the message across that his idea was off the table.
"Well I just don't know why the moment something bad happens you have to turn all Davy Crockett, like was this on your bucket list or something?" Sherlock wondered.
"I'm sorry if this was the only plan I could make in the ten seconds we had to get out of the house, alright? It's the best plan we've got and at the moment we're in a ravine with woods on one side and cops that are prepared to drag you away to some laboratory on the other, so take your pick." John snapped, suddenly very annoyed by Sherlock's pestering.
"Woods." Sherlock muttered, grabbing his bag and starting off towards the river. John sighed, grabbing the rest of the bags and following him. Sherlock was rather moody the way up the other side, and John could guess why. Not only was this climb nearly impossible and extremely tedious but he was going the wrong way constantly. John told him to go right and scramble up that rock, he'd go left and try to climb some weird dirt pile that would fall away and leave him tumbling back down to the river. So John had to constantly tell him exactly what to do, and maybe it was just the disease eating away Sherlock's logical brain cells, but he seemed to be a lot more childish. When they finally climbed up the other side of the ravine they stopped to take a breather, dropping their bags into the grass and stretching out their legs, getting some water and staring across the way at the town, the buildings just little squares on the horizon. 

"How are you feeling?" John wondered, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that question.
"The Advil helped a little bit I suppose." Sherlock shrugged, and John nodded. That was a better answer than he had expected.
"Now it's the fun part, we can rough it!" John said excitedly, elbowing Sherlock in the side and making him scowl.
"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock muttered as he followed him into the woods. John only laughed, bursting into the Lumberjack Song from Monty Python and making Sherlock groan even louder. John could tell this was going to be the beginning of a wonderful journey, with as much sarcasm as can be expressed in a written sentence. The hike was going fine, I suppose as fine as a hike through the woods with a zombie could go, but for the most part it was alright. The trees were shading them from the harsh sun, now beating upon the canopy, the birds were chirping, the grass was green and there was a nice little trail that they were following, so they didn't have to cut through any brush or branches or anything to go up the mountain. John didn't know just were they were going, just that he wanted to stay in the woods for as long as possible, that is until the police caught up with them and made them flee. The mountain was covered in forest, so they had plenty of space to be free from civilization, hide from the cops, hunt for their food, get water from the bubbling streams that lead down to the river below, they could camp out under the trees and have a grand old time. What could go wrong, right? But about twenty minutes into the walk, John could tell Sherlock was starting to lag behind, clutching his stomach and breathing very deeply, as if he thought something was wrong with his oxygen intake. John stopped, turning to see Sherlock dropping his bags and leaning against a tree, letting his head fall back onto the trunk, his very pale face beaded with sweat. John could understand why he needed a break, it was even in the shade of the trees and they were traveling uphill, but there was something else, something more than physical exhaustion slowing Sherlock down.
"Why don't we take a little break?" John suggested, not wanting Sherlock to feel guilty for slowing down their caravan. John dropped his bags as well, finding a log to sit on and cracking open one of the bottles of water he had bought at the store. The water was still a little bit chilly from being in the cooler for so long, but after being stowed away in a bag and dragged along through the heat it gotten warmer, so it wasn't nearly as refreshing as it should've been. Sherlock stumbled over to the log and sat next to John, leaning his head on his knees and curling into a very tight little ball.
"Hey, are you alright?" John wondered, putting a reassuring hand on Sherlock's back, as a sort of comfort I suppose. Sherlock lifted his head up just enough to shake his head no, and then dropped it again.
"Want some more Advil?" John wondered. Sherlock groaned out a no. "Want some water?" Sherlock groaned again, sitting up very straight and clenching his teeth, looking rather thoughtful for a moment before nodding and scrambling off the log, going behind some tree and throwing up once more. John sighed, that was definitely a bad sign, but he dragged himself off of the log and went over to make sure he was alright.
"Go away John, I don't want you to see this." Sherlock insisted, shooing John away with his hand from behind the tree.
"Are you alright?" John wondered nervously, staying at a distance as he saw Sherlock lurch again, coughing and spitting.
"Do I look alright?" Sherlock snapped, leaning up against the tree and wiping his mouth with a leaf. He stood up straight again, looking a bit better, and walked back to the log on which they had been sitting, taking a seat and drinking a little bit of water.
"It was the donuts, I think." Sherlock decided. John sighed, staying where he was and crossing his arms.
"Are we just going to blame this sickness on the last thing you ate? Because last night it was the pancakes." John pointed out. Sherlock sighed deeply, shrugging innocently.
"What else do you want me to say? We both know what's happing, but neither of us want to admit it." Sherlock pointed out.
"No, Sherlock, I just..." John started.
"I think we need to be real here. I think we should just turn back." Sherlock decided.
"No, we can't Sherlock, they'll catch us!" John insisted.
"So what?" Sherlock asked loudly, getting up off of the log with a determined face. "So what if they catch us, they have medical attention there, they have trained professionals, food, water, a bed. So what if they run experiments on me, so what if they kill me, I don't really care, not anymore. I'm already dead."
"You're not dead, Sherlock, you can't give up. Not now. We're together now, and we can spend your...your last moments together, make up for the last time. If they shipped you off who knows where we wouldn't see each other again, I'd be alone. You'd be alone." John debated, his voice weak.
"I've died alone once before, I can do it again." Sherlock assured.
"But you don't have to, I won't let you. I'll take care of you out here Sherlock." John insisted, taking a step closer but Sherlock took a large step back, tripping on the log but steadying himself enough so that he could remain standing. It wasn't that much of a distance but John got the hint, Sherlock didn't want to be close to him right now, he didn't want to hug it out and confess their feelings, he was being logical. Of course he was right, of course this was the stupidest move they could've made, but John would feel so guilty if he had let Sherlock die in some institution, he would've never forgave himself. He needed to be nurtured and cherished for as long as possible, and John would hold his hand as the life slipped out of him for the second time, that is if it was ever there at all.
"Let's just go, we're wasting time." Sherlock decided, stowing his water back into his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Are you sure, do you want to sit down some more?" John wondered, but Sherlock just shook his head, staring off onto the trail without waiting for John to get ready. John just sighed, grabbing his own backpack and picking up his bag off the ground. Fortunately or unfortunately his bag was near the tree that Sherlock had threw up behind, and he could see that some of the leaves were shining with blood. John sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before turning and following Sherlock's retreating figure up the path, more worried about his boyfriend than ever.