John Watson
For days now Sherlock has moped about his apartment at 221B Baker Street. I visit him from time to time, to check up on him. Lestrade can't get him to leave either, no matter what case he brings to him. Mrs. Hudson worries about him, even though I assure her he is fine. This isn't the first time he's acted like this. Today I decided enough was enough, that he must leave his room for once. I go to strike on the door when he swings wide open and there he stands, a grin upon his face.
“I was just coming to see you.” I tell him.
“Oh I thought you were here to see Mrs. Hudson...of course you were here to see me, John. Why else would you be standing outside our door?” he replies in the matter that he does.
“Your door,” I remind him impatiently for the millionth time.
“Oh for God's sake, John.” he says exasperated. “I almost lost my train of thought.”
“So what has the great Sherlock Holmes up and about?” I ask him, giving him a look of impatience.
He grins at me like a school boy. “A most intriguing case, John. Most intriguing indeed.”
“Wonderful…” I sigh. I wanted him out of the house, but I had the sinking suspicion that this was going to be a whirlwind of activity I did not count on.
“Indeed!” he grabs my arm and briskly pulls me into a nearby cab. “Downtown!” he says excitedly.
“Care to tell me where all this energy came from?” I ask my companion.
“All in good time, John. All in good time,” he says. I roll my eyes.
“Of course…” I say quietly.
The cab takes us towards downtown, but rush hour traffic impedes us. I look next to me, to a very flustered Sherlock. “What now? Can't you hold off for a few minutes?”
My question is met by silence. His nose twitches, and his knees bobs up and down. I can only imagine what is going on in his mind.
“This is far enough! Let us away, John!” Sherlock opens his door to leap out, even though we are in the second lane. I sigh, and make my way towards him. The cabbie looks at us in the rear view mirror. “Oy! You haven't paid your fare!”
Sherlock leans his arms against the doorframe. “What are you doing John? Trying to stiff the poor man?!” I can only hope my face correctly conveys my emotions at present. “Damn you Sherlock…” I mutter as I hand the driver the correct amount of cash.
We head along the road as quick as we can. Sherlock quite a head of me with his long strides. “So what is so important, that you run along moving traffic?!” I call after him.
“You'll see when we get there!” he yells back.
“As cryptic as ever…” I mutter. Before long, we arrive at our destination. A busy square, but all traffic was forced around a curious blue telephone box that was in the very middle of the road. Police had set up cones and an officer directed traffic around it. Sherlock ran right towards it, almost getting hit by oncoming traffic. The drivers honk their horns as they're forced to stop. One almost hits me as he scoots forward and I place my hands on their hood to brace myself. I give a curt wave and a tight smile to the driver before I continue on my way after the crazed detective.
“Really Sherlock? Why must you always try to kill me?” I ask him, annoyed. He ignores me of course, as he circles the blue box. The police man is too busy directing traffic to interfere with us, but he shoots Sherlock a look.
