Who: Watson, whoever else What: Watson's arrival Where: Downtown Lawrence When: 12th, roughly 11pm Rating: Relatively tame, aside from the jacket covered in explosives.
The red dot disappeared from his chest and Sherlock’s, and Watson sprung into action. He turned his back to the swimming pool and began to quickly shrug off the parka and explosives strapped to his chest. The cold grip of fear eased from his gut, to be rapidly replaced by the cold grip of.....cold? He dropped the vest and its deadly packages to the ground, and scrambled away to a safe distance, turning to meet Sherlock’s eyes and finding....a skip. A full, filthy skip, frost crystals sparkling on the rubbish. The swimming pool was gone, Sherlock was gone, and Watson was very, very confused. He was in an alleyway, alone, and it was freezing. He hadn’t been an expert in explosives, from this angle at least, but if it hadn’t gone off when he flung the deadly waistcoat to the ground, this surely....couldn’t... make things......any worse......reaching forward he caught the hood of the parka, shook it free and pulled it on over his black rifle jacket.
Zipping the parka closed, he began to assess the situation. He had just narrowly escaped a squelchy end at the hands of one Jim Moriarty, or at least an associate of Moriarty, the man himself not liking to get his hands dirty. Less than a minute ago, he had been standing beside a swimming pool, and now he was in an alleyway in...where was he? Watson walked to the end of the alley, drawing on his military training to keep his back straight and his pace unhurried. He looked at his watch - a little after midnight - and pulled his phone out of his pocket. No Service - roaming not enabled. What?! Leaning against the wall, feigning a casual attitude, Watson looked around. There was no doubt in his mind that this was not possible. The strip of fast food joints, the American makes of cars, the style of building that he’d only seen on television and in movies... this was impossible. He tried to think like Sherlock, to observe. The licence plates on the Dodge beside him bore the word KANSAS in capital letters across the top. He started walking. So did the car after that. And the car after that. Kansas? Well, this was a side to PTSD that his therapist probably hadn’t heard about.