Baser Instincts: for Mycroft

It had been about a day since I'd started feeling weird, and I didn't think I was alone in that. I could tell I was more anxious than I should've been, and that my temper was flaring up a lot more than usual. I was pretty sure I'd been drugged, but with what, I had no idea-- I didn't know of anything that could ramp up my emotions without causing an immediate appearance of the other guy, but who knew what kinds of crazy shit they had in space.

I was mostly trying to exhaust myself, hoping I could keep it (keep him) under wraps by making myself too tired to get angry. I was on my fourth lap of the outer ring, almost my fifth mile by my estimates, and I was just about ready to call it quits. I stopped at one of the observation decks and took the last long drink from my water bottle, debating crossing through the hub on my way back to my room, or just sticking it out the last quarter turn.

My mind was made up by the sight of Mycroft Holmes exiting the concourse and turning toward me. I went to recap my water bottle, intending to jog on immediately, but I fumbled the cap and dropped it. Cursing under my breath, I bent and saw it had rolled under a bench. Goddammit. I gritted my teeth and went after it, hoping I would get up and see that Mycroft had gone the other way.

Of course, today was not my lucky day.