Title: Click
Author: missp2010
Rating: G
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Warnings: N/A
Wordcount: 275 (very short/one shot)
Summary: An elaboration/dramatisation on Sherlock's thought process, based on a scene from 'A Study In Pink', preluding the crazy cab-chase... enjoy!

Click.

Dominoes falling in slow motion, perfect synch, click, click, click, emulating the shiver running down his spine as cool as the chill London air on his face.

The dominoes fall faster, at warp speed, so fast the noise is like a thrum, an engine running in time with his heart, faster than his lungs can manage, faster than the man behind him can comprehend what he will do next.

Fingers on the lapels of his coat, the fabric rough beneath his hands, fibres catching in microscopic grooves on his skin, tugging on his cells like the call of the race ahead tugs at his existence, he pulls his coat tight over his shoulders, secure in the familiar fabric.

The world lacks lucidity, all of it superfluous except for the thrum, his newly elected lifeblood, he cannot lose it.

Click. Click.

At once he is aware of trumpets, the screech of rubber on stone, the dull thud of metal on flesh (Who's flesh? His flesh? Trivial. Irrelevant.) the feeling only as vivid as the afterburn of a light in a recently darkened room. His body on autopilot, controlling the frivolous brawn so his mind can supernova.

The echo of an apology yelled abstractly at the air resonates behind. At least John is keeping up.

But the thrum. Where in God's name is the thrum..?

"I've got the cab number!"

"Good for you."

Lines. Lines and letters fall into place, pale eyes moving in a waking R.E.M.

"Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights."

Ashen eyes wide open like a lover lost in ecstasy,

he is gone.