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iii. ' drugs and mysterious cabbies '
It wasn't that Peter hated running, he hated any physical effort of any kind. He was pretty sure he had mentioned this before. What he didn't expect was the new physical implementations of his new job. Running after a high functioning sociopath was not his cup of tea.
The next three minutes had been filled with Peter running after Sherlock and John. They ran up fire escapes, jumped across rooftops, ran across roads. It was the most Peter had worked out in the last few months. Yes, he was fit, but he went for light jogs and did a few cardio workouts - not full-blown Olympics training regimes.
Sherlock had run in front of the taxi, which had to have hurt, giving Peter a mini heart attack. This was not normal. Peter felt sweaty and was panting from exhaustion. Everything was not normal.
"Police! Open up!" Sherlock yelled at the cabbie. Sherlock pulled the back door open and checked to see who was inside.
The man inside didn't look threatening he simply looked confused, "No. Teeth, tan. What, Californian? LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived." Sherlock deducted off the bat.
"How could you possibly know that?" John demanded.
"The luggage," Sherlock answered, slightly out of breath. "Probably your first trip to London, right? Going by your final destination and the route cabbie was taking you."
"Sorry. Are you guys the police?" The man asked.
"Yeah. Everything alright?" Sherlock asked as he pulled out a badge. Peter was going to have to ask about that later.
"Yeah." The man replied, a little creeped out it seemed.
"Welcome to London." Sherlock said in a more 'human' tone. He then walked off, leaving Peter behind with John and the random man.
"Uh, any problems, just let us know," John said to the passenger. John closed the door and began to walk to where Sherlock was.
Peter took a moment to breathe. In. Out. In. After the little breather, Peter briskly made his way to where they were standing.
"Basically, a cab that happened to slow down," John stated.
