Detective on Baker Street

Fifth: Ambulance

Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock fought this morning over whether I should go to school or not. I never thought he'd yell at her, but he did, saying how "a lot could happen in 6 hours"; " John's waiting on us!" My aunt promptly retaliated with explaining how much I need and crave an education, and that was that. She was right, and I snuck out the door when I thought their bickering was over.

Rickey stopped by with a bag of fast food during the lunch break. I told him about finding John, and he asked if there would be a "Welcome Back" party. He probably didn't mean it as a joke, but I laughed anyway.

"It's that Jim guy that's doing all of this, right?" he asks before taking a big bite from his hamburger. We sit on a wooden picnic table under some trees behind the school. Other students are scattered around us, some on the ground and some on the remaining 2 picnic tables.

"It's safe to assume so, yeah," I reply as I sip on my Pepsi. "There's honestly nobody else it could be."

"You underestimate the criminal masterminds of London," Rickey tells me with a half smile. "You haven't been wrong in your life, though. Same with Sherlock." I laugh.

"Do you want to come over tonight once I'm done with everything?" I ask, balling up the paper that covered my chicken sandwich and stuffing it into the to-go bag.

"Sure, I'd love to! Just text me what ti-" the bell cuts him off. We chuckle together.

"Thank you for everything," I say, hugging him tightly. He kisses my temple and walks me to the building, hand in mine.

"See you tonight," Rickey says before jogging around the side of the school. I smile to myself; he never checked into the front office.

+

I change out of my school uniform into something more comfortable for rescuing a hostage. Sherlock told me that Lestrade is going to meet us there with a few other people.

I hug Mrs. Hudson goodbye while she sits in a trance watching one of her cooking shows. The consulting detective and I walk out into the dim, pink glow of a sunset; I'm glad it's Friday. Sherlock hails a cab, and we're quickly on our way to a location a block from the factory. He hasn't told me why, but I'm sure his intentions are best for John and everyone else involved.

The cab rolls to a stop in front of a closed shop front. Sherlock pays him, and we exit the vehicle. It takes only a few minutes to walk to where Lestrade and his police buddies are, a few yards from the stout factory. By now, the colorful sky has turned to an almost navy blue. Torches are all that light the way as we approach the brick building.

Its windows are practically falling out of the sides, and the door doesn't shut all the way. Lestrade and the other cops lead Sherlock and I into the factory, all armed with guns and a light source.

Lestrade turns around to Sherlock, whispering, "Do you need a g-"

In response, Sherlock pulls out his gun from his jacket. "Mickey and I can take the east side," he says quickly. Nervously, I click on my torch. Lestrade nods and takes his team around the left - west - side. The room we're in is full of large machines and conveyor belts; this could have easily been a factory that made car parts... or candy.

I keep close beside Sherlock, shining my light under the monstrous equipment and into closets. The air is stuffy, and I feel a bit of sweat on my forehead. Sherlock stops outside of a door, his back against the wall beside it. I shine my light on the doorknob, glancing between it and him.

Sherlock mouths the words "kick and move", and I nod in understanding. My heart pounds quickly and too loudly in my ears. Taking a deep breath, I kick the door in and move as far out of the way as I can while still shining the torch into the room. Sherlock stands in the doorway ready to shoot.