(A/N- Gah, sorry for being such an asshole but not updating in so long, but it's been a hectic few weeks and I haven't had time to update. I regret to announce we've almost reached the end of our journey with The Thrill of the Chase, but if I get enough good feedback at the end of the story, then there is a good chance of a sequel. Thanks so much for all the great feedback, and please continue to vote/comment/share, and if you'd like to, feel free to follow me, I follow back! I love you all, and once again, many apologies! 

-CH xx )

Chapter 42

John's POV

I stared at Sherlock and chuckled. He turned to face me, a slightly confused look on his face.

"What?" He asked.

"You are not tutoring me."

"Why not?"

"Sherlock, we can't even play Cludeo together without us hating each other. It's not happening."

"In that case we better get Moriarty. Again." Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a quick text before smirking at me, his galaxy-like eyes twinkling mischievously.

I checked my watch and saw it was time for lunch. "Should we go? I'm starving."

"Yes, let's."



We didn't end up going to the school cafeteria. We ended up at a Thai restaurant in town. We ordered food and sat down at a booth, waiting for our food to arrive.

"Sherlock, what are we doing here? This is not what I had in mind."

"We need to go shopping."

"What could possibly be so urgent that we have to buy it during school hours?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Two things, John: number one, trust me. Number two, stop being such a sassy little hedgehog." He leaned across and messed up my hair. 

I rolled my eyes. "Stop it. Let's just hurry this along, shall we?"

Sherlock smirked as our food arrived, and he thanked the waiter. We ate in silence, but my brain was buzzing about what he needed to 'buy'. I didn't bother asking, though. I would allow him to remain his secretive, genius self. 

Once we had finished our food, we got in another cab, and pulled up outside a gun store. We got out, and Sherlock paid the fee, before walking into the shop.  "Sherlock, what on Earth are we doing here?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be so vacant, John."

"As if I can control that," I muttered under my breath. 

Sherlock wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and pulled me in close to his side. "Trust me," he murmured in my ear, before letting go, confidently striding up to the counter as the older gentleman eyed us suspiciously. 

"I need a revolver," Sherlock stated. The man raised his eyebrow at Sherlock. 

"Do you have a gun license? You look to young for these sorts of things, lad."

Sherlock whipped an ID out of his breast pocket, and showed the man. "Mycroft Holmes, eh?"

Sherlock nodded, and I fought the urge to scoff. Of course. Sherlock nicked another one of Mycroft's ID's. 

The man sighed and pulled out a revolver. "What do you need this for, anyhow?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I have a collection of weaponry. Guns, swords, you name it, I probably have it," he lied smoothly.

The man laughed fondly and slapped his hand down on Sherlock's shoulder. "You lads and your collections!" 

Sherlock laughed along with him, but I could tell he was fighting the urge to scowl at being touched. Sherlock bought the revolver, signed a few papers, and then once again, we went back to the school. I went to my last class of the day  as Sherlock went off to do his own thing, though of course he didn't go to class. He rarely did. 

Sitting in the lesson, I found I couldn't concentrate. I wanted to be with Sherlock, doing whatever he was doing. Sherlock Holmes is like a drug. I try to keep away from him, but of course I am addicted to the tall, handsome young man with the dark curls and light eyes. I loved his smile that was so rare but so incredible whenever he showed it. Nothing could stop me from loving Sherlock Holmes. 

After class, I went back to our dorm room, and found it was empty. With a sigh, I plonked down on my bed, and pulled out my book and began to read. The words jumbled on the page and I sighed and sighed, putting my book down, rummaging around for my reading glasses. Sherlock didn't officially know I wore them, though of course he probably deduced as much, but still, it was embarrassing. I put them on and sat back down, continuing to read the book. 

I got about one hundred pages in, when I heard the door open and a deep gasp sounded in the room. "John Hamish Watson!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Are you wearing the glasses?!" He took off his coat and scarf, hanging them up on the coat rack before turning back to me with a look of disbelief and amusement on his face.

I looked up and quickly  threw my glasses away, and they hit the wall. Sherlock roared with laughter as he looked at my embarrassed face. He picked them up, staggering over to me as he continued laughing, and he practically fell on top of me, and he ended up laying on me, looking into my eyes as he continued to choke on his laughter. 

Once he calmed himself, he placed my glasses back on me, and smirked down at me. "You look incredible in these glasses, John... Watson," Sherlock murmured, becoming more quieter as he said my name. His eyes gazed into mine, and slowly he leaned down and kissed me softly. 

I tangled my fingers in Sherlock's hair, and pulled him impossibly closer to me, deepening the kiss. His tongue met mine, and Sherlock immediately gained dominance. His arms snaked around my waist, causing my crotch to rub against his. I groaned and arched my back, and Sherlock took advantage of the fact I had bared more skin on my neck, so he began to suck on my sensitive skin. 

Things were getting more heated, but then his watch started beeping, and he rolled off of me. Sherlock got up and ran a hand through his hair, grabbing his coat, scarf, and his revolver, making sure the safety was on as he put it in his breast pocket. 

I got up and allowed him to help me into my coat before we left our dorm room, and locked the door behind us. We walked out of the building, and I saw it was incredibly dark out. "It's twelve thirty AM," Sherlock told me, looking up at the sky. It was overcast and there was a bitter wind coming head on. 

"Sherlock," I whispered for the millionth time that day, "What're we doing?"

"Going to catch a killer. For real."