Holmes gives him a challenging smile back, though he probably wouldn't have, had he not been in disguise, had he not been acting. He does indeed lead the way, and he takes them on a twisting journey through London backstreets and side alleys. It's hardly the lush tour that his last journey with Watson had been; instead of wide expanses of scenery, now there are grimy walls and trash littering the path, and unpleasant smells. It's London, at its rotting core, and it's not romantic in the least.

Holmes is, nonetheless, invigorated. It isn't just the running that sets his blood rushing, his heart pumping; it's having Watson at his side and adventure in the space between them. He'd take Watson's hand if there weren't other people to see, and he wouldn't even think about whether or not Watson would protest.

Once they get to that empty house, once they get inside, he decides to hell with it; there's no one to see in here, and it's dark, besides. He takes Watson's hand and leads him through the house, half feeling his way and half letting his adrenaline lead him.

They get to the necessary room, and Holmes draws Watson in close, sets his lips to his ear. Several things dart through his mind -- Watson's smell, the interference of the makeup and the beer notwithstanding; the fact that if Watson turned his head, they could kiss -- but he ignores them all for the moment, focusing solely on the game.

"Do you know where we are?" he asks, still breathless.