John's a doctor. But when he's not a doctor, he's a werewolf.

A fourth episode, beginning where the third ended. In which Sherlock and John play the cards dealt to them; featuring running, puzzles, running, a card game analogy, and more running.

Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn't simple.

“I’m not his date,” John snaps, for what must be the fucking umpteenth time in the fucking week.

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd been woken up at ridiculous o'clock; it wasn't even the first time he'd been woken up at ridiculous o'clock in London, in the comfort of his own flat. But as John Watson's fingers closed reflexively over the handle of the bedside drawer, yanked, and then plunged inside to close around the familiar weight of his side arm, he realised that it was the first time he'd been woken up by Sherlock Holmes silhouetted on the threshold of his room, with a feather in his hair, snapping his fingers peremptorily and announcing: “Gun. Now.”

"The likelihood of finding a cab on Christmas Eve is fast approaching nil." "So was the likelihood of you kissing me in the middle of the pavement, and yet."

The spider's web: She finds an innocuous corner in which to spin her web. The longer the web takes, the more fabulous its construction. She has no need to chase. She sits quietly, her patience a consummate force; she waits for her prey to come to her on their own, and then she ensnares them, injects them with venom, rendering them unable to escape. --- Donna Hope

John and Sherlock have something in common of which they are both unaware. They've both been holding back from starting a relationship with the other because of the one aspect of their lives they are *sure* they cannot share. Serial Killer AU.