221 Baker Street is sort of a funny little place. A thin
white building that serves as the home for Mrs. Huddson, Doctor and blogger
John Watson, and of course everyone’s favorite consulting Detective Sherlock
Holmes. The walls that make up 221B Baker Street especially have played witness
to more than their fair share of the strange, the odd and the unusual. Still, despite
the numerous characters to pass through its threshold, despite all that has
been seen or heard, despite all the adventures that started right here inside
these very walls, today brings a visitor and with him an adventure unlike any
Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, or 221B Bakers Street has ever seen.
“Mycroft, how many times must we go over this? I don’t care who you lost. I don’t care
how you lost him. I DON’T CARE.” Sherlock said aloud in his most commanding
tone as he sat in his chair gazing at the fire place, his trusty violin in his
lap and his bow grasped within his long pale fingers. Not once since his
brother’s arrival to the flat had he even bothered to look upon him, pretending not
to listen of pay any mind to Mycroft’s request for assistance. Of course in
actuality he listened, it was pretty much impossible to drown out Mycroft
Holmes.
Mycroft, sitting directly across from Sherlock in what has
affectionately become known as John’s chair, sighs heavy and not for the first
time since he arrived that day. “You’re not listening. I have a very dangerous man
out there somewhere. He escaped, we were tracking him and then he vanished out
of thin air.”
“You were tracking him and then he vanished?” Sherlock began
mockingly. “He rid himself of his tracker or deactivated it somehow. Mystery
solved, now go find him, surely a man with eyes all over this city can find one
mad man in London.”
“This not the kind of tracker one can simply be rid of.
Deactivation would be impossible.” Mycroft replied, more aggravated than before
as he glanced around the room. “Where is Doctor Watson? He usually serves as
your voice of reason in these matters.”
“Goodbye Mycroft.” Sherlock said coldly, signaling that at
least on his end the matter and the encounter had come to a close.
Mycroft stood from his seat and took a small envelope from
his coat pocket, setting it upon the fireplace mantle. “His name is Doctor Tom
Jackman. All that you need to know is in this envelope. Contact me if you
should need any further assistance in this matter, though I’m sure you will be
hearing from me before that. Good Day, brother.” Mycroft informed, instructed,
and well wished before excusing himself from the flat just as Sherlock began
to play upon his violin, never once, even unto the end of the encounter, giving
his brother any active notice.
A short while later, this time outside the
door of 221B, Dr. John Watson with his hands full of grocery totes, climbs up
the stair case just in time to catch a very odd sight indeed. A funny looking
man, down upon one knee, dressed from head to toe in an uncoordinated tweed
suit. His back was turned towards John and he seemed to pay the arrival no
mind. He was busy at what as best John could guess, examining the door with an
odd looking torch. John paused for a moment and cleared his throat. “What are
you doing?” he asked at length.
“Shhhhs!” the man replied.
“I’m sorry, did you just Shoosh me?” John asked a bit shocked
and mildly annoyed.
“Breaking and entering. The lock is iron, but the door is wood. This will take time and loads of concentration, so shoosh!” The strange man
replied once more, still with his back turned towards John.
“Well, you’re not going to get very far with a torch. Have
you tried knocking?” John asked, his annoyance giving way to the humor of the
situation.
“Of course I’ve tried knocking!” The man said aloud as he
stood up and turned about, the torch in his hand still pointing towards the
lock. “He won’t answer, which is really annoying! I can hear him in there and
he won’t answer – what kind of person just ignores a knocking door?” the man
exclaimed.
“So, I take you never actually met Sherlock Holmes.” John
joked lightly in reply.
“Of course I’ve met him, what kind of a man do you think I
am for that matter? The kind who goes around breaking into stranger’s houses?” the man asked.
John smiled. “Yes, that is exactly the kind of man I think
you are, with a torch no less.” Just
then a clicking sound could be heard as the door unlocked, and the smile left
John’s lips.
“It’s not a torch, it’s a sonic screwdriver.” The man
replied with a smile as he reached to turn the door knob. “I’m the Doctor by
the way, and you are?”
“What’s a sonic screwdriver… I’m Doctor John Watson…. Did –
did you just break into my flat with a torch?” John asked, more shocked,
confused and mildly impressed than concerned.
The man, known and introduced as the Doctor, smiled as his eyes lit up
brightly. “You’re Doctor John Watson.” he exclaimed with an odd bit of glee.
“What a pleasure to meet you! I’m a big fan of your blog, gets me every time…
well almost every time! Where are my manners? Let me help you with those.” He
said as he reached for some of the groceries totes.
“Sure, why not.” John mumbled a bit sarcastically, unsure
about the turn the situation had taken. Then again, a strange man had just
picked a lock using a torch he called a sonic screwdriver while offering to
help with the groceries, John had learned in the past that some days one must
question everything and some days one must take events as they come. This was
clearly one of the latter. “Right this way I suppose.” he said as he took the
lead into the apartment. “Oh Sherlock…” he said aloud as they crossed the
threshold.
Sherlock, simply gives the courtesy of ceasing his playing, but not as much to turn around and acknowledge John or the new comer. “You were gone a while.” he comments aloud to John, yet somehow to himself.
“Yes, well I don’t shop because I am good at it, or because I enjoy it – I shop because only one of us will.” John comments in return as he carried the totes into the kitchen. “I arrived home just in time to see our door being picked… he says he knows you.” John adds announcing the Doctor who was behind him.
Sherlock doesn't bother to look up, gazing deeper into the flames. As for the Doctor, after handing off his totes, he takes the seat across from Sherlock, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward towards a space between Sherlock and the fire, warming his hands. “Hello again, Sherlock”
Sherlock seemed to recognize the voice and he turned to look at the strange man, one glance at his face had Sherlock’s eyes rolling back and his position shifting away from the visitor. “Why are you here? How did you even find where here is?” Sherlock demanded to know in a huff.
John peeked out from the kitchen for a moment. “So you do know each other?”
The Doctor looked back at John with awkward smile “Well, I say ‘know’…”
Sherlock stood up from his chair, adjusting the ends of his sleeves. “He’s mad - he just showed up one day about two years back, wearing an ear hat for some reason – and insisted on following me around. I was right in the middle of work. It took nearly three hours and more than one attempt to rid myself of him.”
“You ditched me, at a morgue. Most boring three hours of my life I might add… but in your defense it was a Sunday, which is why I always skip Sundays.” The Doctor argued and added.
“I’m sorry, you said you skip Sundays? How does one skip Sundays, or any days for that matter?” John asked as he handed the Doctor a cup of tea.
The Doctor shook his head. “It’s complicated and not why I’m here.”
Sherlock sighed clearly aggravated. “Why are you here?” He asked for the second time.
The Doctor’s face grew solemn. “I lost something… something very important.”
John, though thoroughly confused, couldn't ignore the face which the Doctor held or the tone that his voice now carried. He took a seat in Sherlock’s chair, across from the Doctor. “And you want us to help you find it?”
“No – I know where it is… at least I think I know, I have a fairly good idea of where it is.” The Doctor began, this time really only speaking to John. “I just don’t know how it got there, who took it.”
John, still confused, clearly looking puzzled. “So what is IT that you lost, exactly?”
The Doctor smiled as his gaze turned away. “A box, a lovely blue box…” he spoke softly trailing off.
“Someone took a blue box away from you?” John asked with a smirk of disbelief, Sherlock did say he was mad.
“Yes and no. It’s not just a blue box – I mean it is a blue box, but it's also a vehicle and so much more than that. But I know what it is, and I’m fairly certain I know where it’s gone. I need the two of you to help me figure out who took it.” The Doctor pleaded.
John leaned back in the chair for a moment, paused in thought. Sherlock just turned his back to them, gazing through the window at the outside world. Finally, after some time, John spoke again. “When we met you introduced yourself as a Doctor… Doctor of what?” John asked - no smirk this time.
“I’m not a Doctor – I’m the Doctor. It’s my name.” The Doctor replied as he sipped at the tea.
“Doctor is a title – not a name. A title that must be earned. I know, I am a Doctor.” John replied shortly.
The Doctor sighed. “There is a lot about me that, if you decide not to help me, you will never understand.”
“And if we decide to help you?” John asked.
“I can’t promise you will understand all of it even then.” The Doctor replied with a sort of off smile.
John stood up and walked over towards Sherlock, looking back at the Doctor as he did so. “Sherlock, can you help me out here a little?”
Sherlock sighed lightly, walking back towards the Doctor, motioning with his hand for the Doctor to stand. “Doctor – last time we met, in frustration I sarcastically suggested you might be a time traveler, Mr. Universe, or even a monkey’s uncle for all I cared…”
The Doctor nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
“You said I was clever, as if I was right…. I remember that part well; it was when I decided to rid myself of you.” Sherlock continued.
The Doctor smiled. “You were clever, you are clever and you were right, and if you had not rid yourself of me, I may have even shown you. If you help me, I will show you.” the Doctor replied and promised in a whisper.
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders as he walked over to rejoin John at the window. “Earlier today, before you returned home, I had a visit from Mycroft, some mad man escaped custody and they want us to track him down – I think, I wasn't really listening. So the way I see it we have two options; we can send this man on his way and spend the next few day avoiding Mycroft forcing him to clean up his own mess or we can humor this man for a while and see where his story takes us.. Still leaving Mycroft to clean up his own mess.” Sherlock suggested.
“A Mad Man Escapes Custody and we are just going to leave it to Mycroft to clean up?” John asked.
Sherlock shook his head.
“Mad yes, dangerous no. If he was dangerous we wouldn't be the only ones enrolled to look for him.”
“Fair enough - but Sherlock, this guy isn't exactly stable…. But then again that has never stopped me before.” John asked, mumbling that last bit under his breath.
“Doctor, where exactly, would we be going, if we chose to help you?” Sherlock asked looking over to the Doctor who at this point was holding and shuffling through the contents of an envelope that was never his to open.
The Doctor glanced up with a smile. “America.”
John eyes grew large. “America?? This vehicle of yours is in America?”
“Don’t be daft, of course not – It Is In England.” The Doctor began as he tucked the envelope that did not belong to him into his jacket pocket and walked over to the two men.
John sighed. “Then why would we be going to America?”
“Because gentlemen” The Doctor began with a very enthused smile. “Knowing where something is one thing. Knowing who put it there is another – but being able to get there, that is something entirely different altogether.” He informed them in his own way as he placed a hand on a shoulder of either man.
“Wow – okay, this just all became very weird, very fast.” John said as he stumbled back a bit, clasping his hand together as though trying to take a physical hold of what he perceived to be a metaphorical situation. “If it’s alright with you,” he began, speaking towards the Doctor “I would like to have a word with Sherlock.” He added, "Again."
The Doctor smiled. “Well of course, take all the time you need!” he insisted as he spun around and took a seat back in John’s comfy chair.
John tilted his head aside. “Actually, I meant alone… in private, with you elsewhere. If you don’t mind?”
“Oh, of course - how silly of me.” The Doctor replied as he took once more to his feet, walking back towards the exit. “Human customs – quaint and charming, on occasion.” he muttered, as he paused at the door looking back towards them. “Though, try not to take too long. The sooner we leave England, the sooner we can arrive in the states, the sooner we can return to England.” He added before stepping outside the door, where he quickly took a seat on the steps outside the flat’s door.
As soon as the door closed with the Doctor on the other side of it, John turned to Sherlock with his palms turned outwards in what can best be described as a – please explain – gesture.
Sherlock began to pace a bit back and forth – a few steps one way and few back again. “Last time I encountered this man, I was working – in the middle of a job, which required my utmost attention. I observed him John, just as I observe you – as I observe everyone, I read – I interpreted what I observed and it never made sense. It never fit well. One observation voided the other – it was odd, a first for me, really. As if he was a combination of men, of several habits – that simply did not add up. He was quickly becoming a distraction, one at the time I, or the case at hand, could not afford. So I rid myself of him as quickly as I could and went on to solve the case and, truth be told, I really hadn't given him much thought since. Why would I? Yet here he is, just as before – still not making sense – only this time, John, he’s asking for help.”
“Sherlock, people come through that door all the time asking for help – you turn people and cases down all the time.” John began to argue.
Sherlock stopped pacing for a moment. “Look at him John – bow tie, suspenders, tweed jacket with very little wear despite the elbow patches – high water un-tailored trousers and those shoes?” He began aloud “Does any of that strike you as choices a man who is in the habit of asking for help - would make?”
John sighed heavy. “Okay, fair enough, but what about this case with Mycroft – that sounds pretty important, not something we should just ignore.” To which Sherlock offered no reply, just a lingering stare. John huffed. “Okay – fine. So, Mycroft aside. America? Crossing the Atlantic in search of a Box shaped vehicle with a blue paint job? One that’s apparently in England, yet still requires a venture across the pond to retrieve? Is that not a bit odd to you?”
“John since when do we involve ourselves in the cases of the normal, typical, or logical?” Sherlock asked with a side smirk. “You don’t have to come; you can manage the flat while I’m gone.” He suggested at length.
“You in America – dealing with the American people? Not sure I’d miss that even for the world.” John replied. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”
Sherlock walked over towards the door. “Bad ideas are all that should interest us. After all, good ideas are so boring.” he added as his hand gripped the door knob, and with a turn he opened the door, inviting the Doctor inside once more.
The Doctor took a very large step forward across the threshold, pulling two plane tickets from his pocket, holding one each out to the two men. “So, will you help me?” he asked.
“To the best of our abilities, apparently.” John mumbled, taking the plane ticket and glancing over the info. “This is already in my name? When did you even buy these?”
“Just before I made my way over here. I had a feeling, a really good feeling.” The Doctor replied with an enthusiastic smile, one even wider than any he had displayed before, and a sparkle in his eye.“Meet me at that gate in 3 hours. I have a few things I need to gather before our flight. I've never been on a plane before, at least not in a proper human way, how exciting!”
“I wasn't aware there was any other way.” John grumbled to himself. “Three hours? Yikes, that’s a bit sudden, yeah? I mean that doesn't really give us much time to get things in order.” John commented aloud. “I mean we have plants – how long will we be gone?”
Sherlock smiled “I’m sure Mrs. Huddson won’t mind tending to a few things while we are away.”
“We can’t just ask her to tend to things, Sherlock, she’s not our housekeeper.” John replied with a smirk, inside jokes are always fun.
The Doctor sighed. “I can assure you Dr. Watson, time is quite relative and very irrelevant in this matter, but if it makes you come along with a settled mind, should we return to a flat left to ruin, I will personally owe you two Japanese Peace Lilies and ficus.”
Sherlock smiled, somewhat amused by the interactions between John and the Doctor. “We will be there in three hours, as promised.”
And on that note the Doctor, very pleased with the encounter, turned to leave; leaving John and Sherlock standing there, tickets in hand. Once the door was shut, John turned to Sherlock “May I see yours?” He asked, asking for Sherlock’s ticket.
Sherlock, simply gives the courtesy of ceasing his playing, but not as much to turn around and acknowledge John or the new comer. “You were gone a while.” he comments aloud to John, yet somehow to himself.
“Yes, well I don’t shop because I am good at it, or because I enjoy it – I shop because only one of us will.” John comments in return as he carried the totes into the kitchen. “I arrived home just in time to see our door being picked… he says he knows you.” John adds announcing the Doctor who was behind him.
Sherlock doesn't bother to look up, gazing deeper into the flames. As for the Doctor, after handing off his totes, he takes the seat across from Sherlock, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward towards a space between Sherlock and the fire, warming his hands. “Hello again, Sherlock”
Sherlock seemed to recognize the voice and he turned to look at the strange man, one glance at his face had Sherlock’s eyes rolling back and his position shifting away from the visitor. “Why are you here? How did you even find where here is?” Sherlock demanded to know in a huff.
John peeked out from the kitchen for a moment. “So you do know each other?”
The Doctor looked back at John with awkward smile “Well, I say ‘know’…”
Sherlock stood up from his chair, adjusting the ends of his sleeves. “He’s mad - he just showed up one day about two years back, wearing an ear hat for some reason – and insisted on following me around. I was right in the middle of work. It took nearly three hours and more than one attempt to rid myself of him.”
“You ditched me, at a morgue. Most boring three hours of my life I might add… but in your defense it was a Sunday, which is why I always skip Sundays.” The Doctor argued and added.
“I’m sorry, you said you skip Sundays? How does one skip Sundays, or any days for that matter?” John asked as he handed the Doctor a cup of tea.
The Doctor shook his head. “It’s complicated and not why I’m here.”
Sherlock sighed clearly aggravated. “Why are you here?” He asked for the second time.
The Doctor’s face grew solemn. “I lost something… something very important.”
John, though thoroughly confused, couldn't ignore the face which the Doctor held or the tone that his voice now carried. He took a seat in Sherlock’s chair, across from the Doctor. “And you want us to help you find it?”
“No – I know where it is… at least I think I know, I have a fairly good idea of where it is.” The Doctor began, this time really only speaking to John. “I just don’t know how it got there, who took it.”
John, still confused, clearly looking puzzled. “So what is IT that you lost, exactly?”
The Doctor smiled as his gaze turned away. “A box, a lovely blue box…” he spoke softly trailing off.
“Someone took a blue box away from you?” John asked with a smirk of disbelief, Sherlock did say he was mad.
“Yes and no. It’s not just a blue box – I mean it is a blue box, but it's also a vehicle and so much more than that. But I know what it is, and I’m fairly certain I know where it’s gone. I need the two of you to help me figure out who took it.” The Doctor pleaded.
John leaned back in the chair for a moment, paused in thought. Sherlock just turned his back to them, gazing through the window at the outside world. Finally, after some time, John spoke again. “When we met you introduced yourself as a Doctor… Doctor of what?” John asked - no smirk this time.
“I’m not a Doctor – I’m the Doctor. It’s my name.” The Doctor replied as he sipped at the tea.
“Doctor is a title – not a name. A title that must be earned. I know, I am a Doctor.” John replied shortly.
The Doctor sighed. “There is a lot about me that, if you decide not to help me, you will never understand.”
“And if we decide to help you?” John asked.
“I can’t promise you will understand all of it even then.” The Doctor replied with a sort of off smile.
John stood up and walked over towards Sherlock, looking back at the Doctor as he did so. “Sherlock, can you help me out here a little?”
Sherlock sighed lightly, walking back towards the Doctor, motioning with his hand for the Doctor to stand. “Doctor – last time we met, in frustration I sarcastically suggested you might be a time traveler, Mr. Universe, or even a monkey’s uncle for all I cared…”
The Doctor nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
“You said I was clever, as if I was right…. I remember that part well; it was when I decided to rid myself of you.” Sherlock continued.
The Doctor smiled. “You were clever, you are clever and you were right, and if you had not rid yourself of me, I may have even shown you. If you help me, I will show you.” the Doctor replied and promised in a whisper.
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders as he walked over to rejoin John at the window. “Earlier today, before you returned home, I had a visit from Mycroft, some mad man escaped custody and they want us to track him down – I think, I wasn't really listening. So the way I see it we have two options; we can send this man on his way and spend the next few day avoiding Mycroft forcing him to clean up his own mess or we can humor this man for a while and see where his story takes us.. Still leaving Mycroft to clean up his own mess.” Sherlock suggested.
“A Mad Man Escapes Custody and we are just going to leave it to Mycroft to clean up?” John asked.
Sherlock shook his head.
“Mad yes, dangerous no. If he was dangerous we wouldn't be the only ones enrolled to look for him.”
“Fair enough - but Sherlock, this guy isn't exactly stable…. But then again that has never stopped me before.” John asked, mumbling that last bit under his breath.
“Doctor, where exactly, would we be going, if we chose to help you?” Sherlock asked looking over to the Doctor who at this point was holding and shuffling through the contents of an envelope that was never his to open.
The Doctor glanced up with a smile. “America.”
John eyes grew large. “America?? This vehicle of yours is in America?”
“Don’t be daft, of course not – It Is In England.” The Doctor began as he tucked the envelope that did not belong to him into his jacket pocket and walked over to the two men.
John sighed. “Then why would we be going to America?”
“Because gentlemen” The Doctor began with a very enthused smile. “Knowing where something is one thing. Knowing who put it there is another – but being able to get there, that is something entirely different altogether.” He informed them in his own way as he placed a hand on a shoulder of either man.
“Wow – okay, this just all became very weird, very fast.” John said as he stumbled back a bit, clasping his hand together as though trying to take a physical hold of what he perceived to be a metaphorical situation. “If it’s alright with you,” he began, speaking towards the Doctor “I would like to have a word with Sherlock.” He added, "Again."
The Doctor smiled. “Well of course, take all the time you need!” he insisted as he spun around and took a seat back in John’s comfy chair.
John tilted his head aside. “Actually, I meant alone… in private, with you elsewhere. If you don’t mind?”
“Oh, of course - how silly of me.” The Doctor replied as he took once more to his feet, walking back towards the exit. “Human customs – quaint and charming, on occasion.” he muttered, as he paused at the door looking back towards them. “Though, try not to take too long. The sooner we leave England, the sooner we can arrive in the states, the sooner we can return to England.” He added before stepping outside the door, where he quickly took a seat on the steps outside the flat’s door.
As soon as the door closed with the Doctor on the other side of it, John turned to Sherlock with his palms turned outwards in what can best be described as a – please explain – gesture.
Sherlock began to pace a bit back and forth – a few steps one way and few back again. “Last time I encountered this man, I was working – in the middle of a job, which required my utmost attention. I observed him John, just as I observe you – as I observe everyone, I read – I interpreted what I observed and it never made sense. It never fit well. One observation voided the other – it was odd, a first for me, really. As if he was a combination of men, of several habits – that simply did not add up. He was quickly becoming a distraction, one at the time I, or the case at hand, could not afford. So I rid myself of him as quickly as I could and went on to solve the case and, truth be told, I really hadn't given him much thought since. Why would I? Yet here he is, just as before – still not making sense – only this time, John, he’s asking for help.”
“Sherlock, people come through that door all the time asking for help – you turn people and cases down all the time.” John began to argue.
Sherlock stopped pacing for a moment. “Look at him John – bow tie, suspenders, tweed jacket with very little wear despite the elbow patches – high water un-tailored trousers and those shoes?” He began aloud “Does any of that strike you as choices a man who is in the habit of asking for help - would make?”
John sighed heavy. “Okay, fair enough, but what about this case with Mycroft – that sounds pretty important, not something we should just ignore.” To which Sherlock offered no reply, just a lingering stare. John huffed. “Okay – fine. So, Mycroft aside. America? Crossing the Atlantic in search of a Box shaped vehicle with a blue paint job? One that’s apparently in England, yet still requires a venture across the pond to retrieve? Is that not a bit odd to you?”
“John since when do we involve ourselves in the cases of the normal, typical, or logical?” Sherlock asked with a side smirk. “You don’t have to come; you can manage the flat while I’m gone.” He suggested at length.
“You in America – dealing with the American people? Not sure I’d miss that even for the world.” John replied. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”
Sherlock walked over towards the door. “Bad ideas are all that should interest us. After all, good ideas are so boring.” he added as his hand gripped the door knob, and with a turn he opened the door, inviting the Doctor inside once more.
The Doctor took a very large step forward across the threshold, pulling two plane tickets from his pocket, holding one each out to the two men. “So, will you help me?” he asked.
“To the best of our abilities, apparently.” John mumbled, taking the plane ticket and glancing over the info. “This is already in my name? When did you even buy these?”
“Just before I made my way over here. I had a feeling, a really good feeling.” The Doctor replied with an enthusiastic smile, one even wider than any he had displayed before, and a sparkle in his eye.“Meet me at that gate in 3 hours. I have a few things I need to gather before our flight. I've never been on a plane before, at least not in a proper human way, how exciting!”
“I wasn't aware there was any other way.” John grumbled to himself. “Three hours? Yikes, that’s a bit sudden, yeah? I mean that doesn't really give us much time to get things in order.” John commented aloud. “I mean we have plants – how long will we be gone?”
Sherlock smiled “I’m sure Mrs. Huddson won’t mind tending to a few things while we are away.”
“We can’t just ask her to tend to things, Sherlock, she’s not our housekeeper.” John replied with a smirk, inside jokes are always fun.
The Doctor sighed. “I can assure you Dr. Watson, time is quite relative and very irrelevant in this matter, but if it makes you come along with a settled mind, should we return to a flat left to ruin, I will personally owe you two Japanese Peace Lilies and ficus.”
Sherlock smiled, somewhat amused by the interactions between John and the Doctor. “We will be there in three hours, as promised.”
And on that note the Doctor, very pleased with the encounter, turned to leave; leaving John and Sherlock standing there, tickets in hand. Once the door was shut, John turned to Sherlock “May I see yours?” He asked, asking for Sherlock’s ticket.
Sherlock surrendered it to him and turned away in
order to start packing an overnight bag. John followed Sherlock into his room,
staring down at the tickets, comparing them. “They aren't even next to each other, from
what I can tell.”
“Not uncommon with last minute bookings – a bit surprising
that we are even on the same flight.” Sherlock said as he began to stuff a
leather shoulder bag with socks, under shirts, a purple dress shirt, among other
items. “You should really pack – long flight ahead of us and I want to grab a
bite to eat before we embark on 10 hours with nothing but airline food at our
selection.”
“Yeah, very - good - idea.” John replied as he turned to leave
for his room, but paused a moment still “Sherlock, these are one way tickets –
naturally, but do you suppose he failed to hand us our return tickets, or failed
to purchase them all together?”
Sherlock sighed “If I knew the answer to that – I probably
would not be helping him. His problem is not the reason we are going – He is.”
Sherlock replied with a smirk – the game was on.
Fan Art By: Liesl G. 12/2012 - John and Sherlock
