thelongnow_logs | The Race: Starting Line

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The Race: Starting Line

Everyone participating in the race found themselves waking up in a car with their teammate. On the dashboard was a map of England and a sealed envelope. Over the radio came the familiar voice of one Oliver St. Oldcastle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines." And he sounds oh so smug. "I promised you all a chance to win a prize and this is it! For the next two days, you'll be racing from here to the finish line. I can hear you all asking, 'Oliver! Where is the finish line?'"

He clicked his tongue.

"That's my little secret. Guess you'll have to play the game and find out. Step One: open the envelope."

He paused to allow the racers time to do that.

"Yes, it's a riddle. It simply wouldn't be fun if I came right out and told you, would it? That's the first leg of your journey there. Solve it and you'll be on your way. First one to the finish line gets a prize! Everybody else will be directly responsible for the death of someone you love."

There was another pause, to let that sink in for a moment.

"It wouldn't be the same if the stakes weren't high, would it? And don't say, 'Oh Oliver, you can't do that!' because I can and I will. Oh, and I almost forgot Rule Number One: have fun out there."

The radio clicked off in each car.

[ooc: Feel free to tag here with reactions or whatever. Oliver may or may not respond to questions. The car doors are locked with magic, so no one will be leaving their cars til they're out on the road. For your clarification, here's a map of the route that the race will take, each time the line changes direction being a checkpoint:

This is not the map the characters are receiving. Theirs has no red line on it, it's only a generic road map of England. This map is only so you can see roughly where the characters will be headed.

The riddle in the envelope is this:

Rising out of the unknown
Gallows or temple, no way to be sure
The seeds of fame sown
In the mists of a moor.

The post for the first checkpoint will be up in a couple days, but there may be others between now and then so keep an eye out!]

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As John followed the directions given, he carefully tried to guide the rather bumpy and wild car as he sped around awkwardly. Well, he guessed it was still better than having Sherlock drive. He was terrified to even see what that would be like.

"Right, so what turning do I take here?" John asked under his breath, only getting a response about funnel cake. Really? Funnel cake? They were in a race to save someones life and Sherlock was having cravings?

"Could we stop thinking about cake and focus? If we complete this journey, I'll buy you some bloody cake. And something for me. Oh! One of those little muffin things with the edible ball bearings ... and some jam perhaps? Oh and honey! It'd make for some great toast..."

--Oh great, now he was craving cake and toast! Rolling his eyes, he groaned and took a left.

"You'll be turning left right up here." Sherlock said, pointing to the ramp before leaning back into his seat again, eyes flying across the map, attempting to pinpoint the best directions. Of course, he wasn't used to having to read a normal map, generally he just had to type in an address into his mobile and away he went. Or the cabbie generally always knew where to go.

It was odd using a real map now, but he was getting the hang of it.

"I wonder if they even sell funnel cakes anywhere around here." He said suddenly, looking up from the piece of paper and staring pointedly at John. "What do you think? There've been a few circuses and carnivals near London and they've advertised it... I do wish now I had gone to the last one, I'm positive they would have had funnel cake."

He cleared his throat, looking speculatively out the window. "We ought to stop sooner or later, to get something to eat anyways." That didn't sound at all like him. He never bothered with things like food when the hunt was on.

Now, though...

"You know, there's something that's been bothering me, anyways, couldn't exactly figure it out, I'm not great at these sorts of deductions, anyway. When I, ah, showed my appreciation--" That sounded possibly much more horrible than he meant it to. "Well, when I kissed you... You seemed to take it, as though it were nothing?" He wasn't sure what he was getting at anymore. Normally, he would have left this sort of thing be. But now, the obsessive compulsion to know itched at the back of his head.

John frowned and gave Sherlock a small look, there was no one on the streets, no sign of life and no one around... why would he think that there would be any sort of carnival running if there were no people? There best shot would be to break into ASDA and nick some. Did they need money if no one was around? Surely stealing was alright considering the circumstances. "I'll find us a shop when we make some progress and I'll find you some cake. If we can even find funnel cake here, its a long shot."

Heading straight down the road, he kept his eyes out for a store or something, assuming they could just get out any time they wanted. Food would be needed and who knew how long this bloody race would go on. He would get hungry soon as well.

Smiling, he shrugged his shoulders and took a left turn. "Well, its wasn't really anything, was it? Where I come from, a kiss is a kiss and admittedly it was a little odd and a surprise but if you turn your back on a kiss then its rather rude. I mean, I used to kiss my friends all the time but then I get to earth and its this rather serious act, isn't it? Can't say I didn't like it, first bloke to kiss me in this form and all. I must admit I'm impressed by you."

Which he realised after saying was a pretty-- well school girl thing to say. Oh God, what did Donna do to his brain? He was becoming a gushing school girl over Sherlock kissing him. Something that hasn't exactly left his mind.

"And if it were something more?" Sherlock asked before he could stop himself, the need to get down to the bottom of the mess he had created at the duck pond growing and becoming overwhelming. Why did he have to know what John thought of it, and did it mean something more than just a happy little exchange of friendship? Or was it just that? Sherlock expressing the unamountable excitement that had proved his ideas, culminating into one, final deduction, the duck pond theory, if you will? Was that all it was? An expression of joy?

Sure, that's what he had chalked it up to be in the long run. Just a way to express himself and his appreciation for John, a buildup of excitement for a man that he obviously sort of cared about. Enough to go running about, threatening off other people from hurting him, even when he was barking up imaginary trees for possibly the first time in a long time.

He frowned and reached up, massaging his brow once again, pushing away these thoughts. What on earth was the matter with him? He stole a glance to his side once more, stared at John but shook his head. "We'll stop whenever we see something."

If it was something more? Well, he'd never really thought about it. Well, he was lying, of course he had. He'd never taken his mind much off how much he liked Sherlock and he did find himself always talking about the other man to Rose. But that willingness to defend him was pretty lovely. His mind was so much on how brilliant Sherlock was that he'd actually stopped paying attention to the road.

Snapping himself out of it, he smiled softly and toyed with the steering wheel, not sure how to respond himself. Well, without sounding somewhat like Donna and embarrassing himself or something.

"Then-- well, I don't think, you know, I'd be that offended. It'd be nice, flattering... Brilliant," he mumbled awkwardly, never exactly the master of all this romantic love stuff. He was a bit awkward actually, he never knew what were the right words to say. "Why? Was it... you know, more than it as?"

Sherlock glanced back over to John as he spoke, watching the tiny movements, making note of even the most subtle flickers of emotion, cataloging and registering them as unique, putting them all together and wondering over the strange patchwork puzzle they made in his mind. He was in unfamiliar territory with this and it was somewhat terrifying.

Was it though? Why should he be terrified? He shouldn't be. Should he? No, not at all. That much should have been clear enough to him. He had no reason to be afraid.

"It could be." He said without thinking, staring at John, his brow furrowing a bit before he looked back away again, mussing with the map, restless. He was never one for long car rides and all of this tension was only making the journey that much more worse. "All I'm saying is that... I feel like I think a lot about you. Too much, maybe. And maybe that's for a real reason." The frown returned and he looked back out the window, rubbing at the edges of his mouth. "On the other hand," he cleared his throat, throwing his hand down rather abruptly back into his lap. "I really could use some funnel cake."

John had to laugh at that, ohh it had been so awkward and serious then back to funnel cake. Only Sherlock could make something so normal so mad in several seconds. Grinning, he rubbed at his eyes and tried his best to locate somewhere they could go off to trek for funnel cake.

"If it is then at least inform me, yeah? I'd prefer not to make an utter prat out of myself and lose my fondest mate this swiftly," John remarked playfully as they sped along to stonehedge.

"Well, tell you what, first I find you this blasted funnel cake then me and you can... talk? I think the right course of action in these situation is to talk. Though, not about anything, I presume! I doubt my knowledge of rare bugs in the 52nd century would be that helpful."

"That's what normal people would do, yes." Sherlock said, shrugging his shoulders at the idea that it all could be so simple as just talking. He had never considered it before and now that John mentioned it, it was sort of alarming to him that it could be that easy.

But, for now... Winning the race was what really mattered. Winning the race and funnel cake, of course. Those were the most prominent things on his mind at the moment and that was what he intended on focusing on.

Because, somewhere, at the end of the finish line, he could imagine Watson all bound to a chair with a pipe bomb sitting on his lap and that sort of absolutely terrified him. Moreso than talking about feelings with John or anyone else.

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The Race: Starting Line

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