In The Game of Love

twelve

 John drove the motor carriage while Sherlock sat, in disguise, in the passenger seat.

"Will your beard be with us all night?" John wondered.

"I'll remove it once we're south of Trafalgar Square," Sherlock responded.

"If you believe Moriarty has you under observation, isn't this a bit conspicuous?"

"It's so overt, it's covert."

"Isn't Y/N being watched as well? Was it wise to leave her alone?"

"She can handle herself."

"Yet, why do I believe you'll be worried about her the whole night?" Sherlock didn't respond, simply looking out to the side at the streets they were passing. "Trafalgar Square. You must be safe by now."

Sherlock pulled off his beard and began staring at John. "Hmm." The detective rolled his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me with such concern?"

"I'm so very worried. Your vitality's been drained from you. Marriage is the end, I tell you."

"I think of it as the beginning."

"Armageddon."

"Rebirth."

"Restriction."

"Structure."

"Answering to a woman."

"Being in a relationship." Sherlock looked away. "A life in matrimony, the possibility of a family. Who wants to die alone?"

"Well, we'll have a good old-fashioned romp tonight... you'll settle down, have a family and I'll... die alone."

"You won't die alone. What about Y/N? Are you two—"

"We are too focused on stopping Moriarty to worry about a relationship. Perhaps once it is over, if that's what she wants."

"Hmm... I've never really known you to put someone else's feelings before your own." John stopped the motor carriage.

"Anyway..." Sherlock jumped out and walked around to John's side.

"Not bad, that." John kicked the nearest wheel of the motor carriage. He looked up at his friend. "So where are we going?"

"In the future," a man's voice boomed as the man stepped out of a dark shed, "there'll be one of those machines in every town in Europe."

"Loitering in the woodshed again, are we, Myccie?" Sherlock teased his brother Mycroft.

"Good evening, Sherly."

"Well."

Mycroft glanced down at Sherlock's feet before walking away. "I see your bookmaker is ill, dear brother."

Sherlock and John began following behind Mycroft. "As I detect that you've recently changed the brand of soap with which you shave."

"May I point out that the chimney in the front room at Baker Street, still needs a damn good sweeping up?"

"Were you aware that the hackney carriage by which you arrived had a damaged wheel?"

"Yes, the left. And it's plain to the meanest intelligence that you have recently acquired a new bow for your violin."

"Same bow, new strings." The trio stopped there steps.

"And may I deduce, Mycroft—" John interrupted. He pulled off one of his gloves and offered his hand. "Good evening, by the way."