A Network of Love

Food delivery!

Part 3

I walk through the busy streets of London and try to let the roars of passing buses and taxis, the intoxicating stench of carbon dioxide, the conversations and footsteps of the passengers fill my eyes, ears and nose so I don't have to think about everything else. I hold out my hand for a taxi and as one comes to a halt on the icy and with snow covered streets, I get in and tell the driver the address of Karl Trohm. While we skitter through the heavy traffic and narrow streets, I look outside. People are hustling through the streets in their thick fur coats, on every shop there are Christmas decorations and again, I can't help but to be amazed by the significance of the world. Everyone of these bypassing faces have a life, a job, maybe a family, friends, worries, problems, happy moments, every one of them has his or her unique story, just like their genes are unique. "Sir, you can get out now" the taxi driver informs me in the polite/rude way all taxi drivers seem to have. With all my thinking about the world, I haven't noticed that the car has stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry" I nevertheless apologize and give him his money. The cold wind greets me as I make my way to the apartment. What should I say? It is an ordinary flat in an ordinary block in London, in a nice neighbourhood quite near to downtown. His letter compartment is empty and around the house is nothing unusual. I sigh, a little disappointed. What did I expect? A shadowy part London's with suspicious creatures of a man lurking around, like in the East End of the 19th century? I laugh at myself and turn back to the street, intending to call a taxi to take me to the next grocery store. "I bet Sherlock would've found something" I think gravely, when I suddenly see a man in a long trench coat and curly hair walk on the other side of the street. "Sherlock?" I call out to the man and he turns. It is indeed him, and I am happy to see the look of a pleased surprise on his face. "Ah, John, how fortunate that you are here" he smiles happily at me. He must have found something out about the bombers, or else he wouldn't be so cheerful. "What are you doing here?" I demand to know frowning up at him. Oh, I hate the fact that I am small. "Well, while you have been goofing around, trying to play detective I am in fact, tracking a package from them" he informs me quickly. I love it when he talks fast. Of course, it is hard to understand him, but the mimics he makes are just priceless. He can even make words seem alive.

I struggle to keep up as Sherlock strides off with a quick pace. "Who is it?" I want to know and Sherlock points at a man carrying a small package, "This one" he says and a mischievous smile forms on his lips, like a wolf that has spotted its prey. We follow the man until he reaches the tower of London, watching him talk to the ticket encounter. I look up to Sherlock, his eyes are perfectly fixed on them and I wonder, if he is so observant, can he read lips too?

We stayed at the Tower for a few hours, eating something there, but never letting the encounter out of sight. Finally, someone comes by to pick it up, it is a food delivery guy. Sherlock and I get up in unison, my curiousity for the contents of the package grows by the minute. Probably explosives, but why only so few? The delivery guy sits on his motorcycle and before I can say anything, Sherlock reacts. "Quickly" he tells me and holds out his hand for a taxi. He holds the door open for me, but there is no time for me to think about his gentlemanly manners. As soon as I am in, he is too, and he almost yells at the driver. "Follow the motorcycle! Come on, faster or he'll get away!" I know by a mere glance at his face that he is pumped with adrenalin, awoken by the thrill of the chase. The motorcycle maneuvers its way through the heavy traffic with us close behind it. Finally, the man stops in front of a flat, gets off his bike and brings a box of Chinese food along with the little package to the front door. I look intently out the window, I don't want to miss a thing. Suddenly, I hear Sherlock laughing next to me. "Why are you laughing?" I ask confused, my gaze jumping between him and the scene outside. The delivery guy is talking to someone I can't see, next to me I hear Sherlock talking to the taxi driver: "You can take us to 221B Baker Street now" "Wait, don't you want to watch the scene?" I protest irritated. "I don't have to" he states, the previous laugh still audible in his voice. "And why is that?" I encourage him to explain. "Because the woman the delivery guy was talking to is Nancy Jackman" he answers.