(before I start, listen to the song Magic Dance from the Labyrinth-trust me ^.^ If you've already heard it before, you can...ignore this...interruption...yeah...)

John sat next to Sherlock, watching him with a worried expression as he shut his eyes and pressed his hands together, his legs curled up to his chest, it was his go-away-I'm-thinking look. John knew it well.

He wasn't sure what was going on in Sherlock's head. It seemed impossible that JM could mean Jim Moriarty, but Sherlock had sounded so sure. How could Moriarty be responsible for all the murders if he was dead? He had been dead for several years now, there was no way he'd planned a ring of killings this far into the future, wasn't it?

He was mostly concerned for Sherlock, he'd seen what Jim Moriarty had done to him. He knew that Jim was one of the few people that got to Sherlock, and John didn't want Sherlock to fall back into the hole of staying up all night, distracting his mind by doing reckless things so he wouldn't have to face Moriarty.

"Hey, your buddy okay? Does he need some oranges?" Shawn asked, turning around, reaching out to poke Sherlock's leg, as if to see if he'd died in the last five minutes.

John blinked, his train of thought crumbling as he bit back a rude retort, he didn't want to offend Shawn. He seemed like a good, but strange guy. He reminded John of an wild, slightly high Sherlock, "He's thinking, he calls it his mind palace."

"Oh! like the labyrinth?" Shawn asked.

Gus scoffed, "He could not pull of David Bowe,"

"I don't know," Shawn muttered, "he sort of reminds me of the babe..."

"What babe?" Gus asked, grinning cheekily.

"The babe with the power." Shawn answered in a rather awful David Bowe impression.

"What power?"

"The power of Voodoo,"

"Who do?"

"You do"

"Do what?"

"Remind me of the baaabe,"

"Alright! I get it!" John interrupted as Shawn and Gus each began belting the lyric's to Magic Dance.

"I do as well my British doctor! What's taking so long, Gus? I thought you plotted out all of the Seven Elevens within a twenty mile radiation!" Shawn agreed, turning to Gus and raising a single eyebrow.

Gus slammed on his break as the street light flickered to red, "First of all, it's radius, not radiation-"

"I've heard it both ways," Shawn interrupted.

Gus rolled his eyes, "Second, I told you to memorize them! You're supposed to be the psychic! You're the one who drags me in to buy a Slurpee every day!"

"It's not my fault I'm attracted to delicious flavor," Shawn said simply, pointing to the left as they began speeding up, "There's one, pull in. And try to remember next time, I rely on you for my food needs Gus. Don't fail me next time, my panda wand."

"It's not panda wand, Shawn, it's padawa- you know what? I'm not even going to say anything." Gus stuck his chin in the air and raised his eye brows, pursing his lips together as he opened the door and swung out to walk into the Seven Eleven.

"Too late! You already said something!" Shawn yelled at him, before chasing after, muttering, "Panda wand, I know Star Wars, I distinctly remember a panda wand."

John exited the Blueberry, waiting for Sherlock to race into the seven eleven with the relentless energy he always seemed to possess, but he stayed in his seat, his eyes closed, his face relaxed.

"Sherlock," John made his way to Sherlock's door and swung it open, his mind not able to hide the worry as he took a hold of Sherlock's shoulders and shook them.

He didn't respond. John's mind panicked and he shook Sherlock harder, but it seemed as if Sherlock had passed out. It wasn't until John took Sherlock's phone to wack him with it did Sherlock respond.

John had never seen anyone open their eyes so quickly. Sherlock jumped, as if he'd been slapped, and stood up, quickly turning up his collar as he snatched his phone and stuffed it into his pocket. His legs wobbled a bit, and John had to grab Sherlock's arm to make sure he didn't fall.

"Sherlock! Are you okay?" John gasped, his doctor instincts taking over as he assessed Sherlock, making sure he hadn't been hurt. His face was pale, well, paler than it usually was, and his eyes were slightly glazed over.

Sherlock shrugged John away, "Fine! I'm...fine. If you must know, I think Shawn and Gus's singing may have temporarily killed my brain. Not a fan of grown men spontaneously singing, I knew we never should have come to America."

John laughed, his anxiety easing a little as he responded, "Come on now, don't think I can't hear you singing along to the radio every time you take a shower."

"That's completely irrelevant." Sherlock snapped, though John could see a hint of a smirk as he cleared his throat, "Come on, John, I've calculated that we have about six and a half minutes before the police are called on us for terrorizing the shoppers."

John smiled, walking beside Sherlock as they entered the shop. But John couldn't help but notice the way Sherlock winced when the bright lights of the gas station came into his vision, and how he swayed slightly as he swung the door open.

John spotted Shawn and Gus immediately, and almost wished he didn't as he watched Shawn put his mouth underneath the Slurpee machine and chug, with Gus calling, "go, Go, GO!" as several workers stared at horror at Shawn.

John moved forward to stop them, but Sherlock blocked him, "Don't stop them, they're the distraction."

"Distraction? Distraction for what?" John asked, not able to contain a curse as Sherlock did an impressive jump over the cashiers counter and disappeared into the back room.

John, possessing no such strength, quickly walked around the front desk and grumbled slightly as he shut the door behind him so he was alone with Sherlock.

"Alright. We've sneaked into a seven eleven managers lounge. At least we've done something productive in our heavily paid trip to the U.S. We don't want to waste our time now, do we?" John said sarcastically, watching Sherlock as he dropped to the ground and placed his ear on the dirty-possibly sticky-floor.

"What are you doing now-" John stopped as he examined the grown man knocking on the floor underneath him like it was a drum. He looked up at John, a devilish glint passing through his eyes.

Great. John knew that look.

"What, do I even want to know?" John turned around, making sure Shawn and Gus were still distracting the workers, "Don't tell me. There's an ancient, lost tomb underneath us, or there's a letter in German on the floor, or an apple with letters."

"Dull. Overdone. Cliche. Honestly, John, what do you think this is, a poorly written fanfiction? We need a piece of the floor! It's in the floor, John! Now, smash that window and hand me a shard, quickly if you wouldn't mind," He added as John gaped at him.

John knew Sherlock well enough to know not to argue. However, he didn't fancy smashing a window, so he pulled his pocket knife out of his pocket and handed it to Sherlock, "Don't wine, Sherlock, it works perfectly fine."

"Obviously. Smashing the window would have been much more dramatic, though." Sherlock muttered, stabbing his pocket knife into the floor.

"So," John muttered as Sherlock viciously stabbed at the floor, "Is there a particular reason were tearing up the floor of a random gas station?"

Sherlock grinned, "No, I just like stabbing things. Yes, there's a reason! And this isn't a random gas station, John. I knew which one we'd end up at. So did he. He knew we'd come here....It's so obvious, I'm surprised you haven't made the connection yet."

John gave Sherlock a look he gave him often-mostly whenever Sherlock said something was "obvious"- and nearly screamed as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Dude," It was Shawn, his face was dyed blue from the Slurpee he'd been chugging, "I just consumed a cup of pure sugar. I can see everything."

He noticed Sherlock stabbing at the floor and quickly pulled out a paper clip from his hair, "For emergencies," he told John as he raised an eye brow.

John had a strong urge to clobber both men as Shawn joined Sherlock on the ground, stabbing viciously. He glanced out of the room to locate Gus, but quickly shut the door as the he saw Gus in the corner, fighting a Butterfinger out of a workers hand. He'd just...let him do his thing.

"What is that?" John knelt down, joining Shawn and Sherlock as they stared at the floor, wide eyed.

"Bro..." Shawn whispered, the same time Sherlock grinned wickedly, "Brilliant."

Sherlock was clutching a thin piece of tile, but it looked newer, less worn down. On one side, there were four small numbers,

4, 15, 3, 11

"What is it?" John repeated, feeling slightly uncomfortable as Shawn and Sherlock glanced at each other.

"A message from the murderer." Sherlock whispered, right before Shawn stood up quickly and screamed, "To the blueberry, my dear Watson!"

"Yeah, don't say that." John said, glaring at Sherlock, who was smirking.

Hey! I'm super sorry, there hasn't been an update in FOREVER. But It's here! Yay. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and I appreciate you reading it. Thanks! Later, my dudes, ^.^