A Study in Miscommunication

Chapter 13

—-Sherlock's POV—-

"Taxi. Stopped. Nobody getting in, nobody getting out. Why a taxi?" The lighting made it clear there was someone sitting in the back. Did the man offer to split fares with people? Prey on the drunk? The out of towners? People who didn't quite know where they were? "Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why's that clever?" There's something I was missing. Taxi. Obvious. But a puzzle piece was out of place. The friend. The boy was in a familiar part of town. Just running home for an umbrella. I was missing something. Something important, something obvious. But I didn't know what that was. Didn't matter, I could use this to cure John's limp. "Don't stare," I ordered when John turned his whole body to look out the window. The move would be completely obvious to anyone observing us. Clearly, John wasn't one for subtlety.

John made a noise in his throat. "You're staring."

"We can't both stare," I responded. I left out the part that he probably wouldn't notice anything so I should be the one doing the staring. I was far more likely to notice something useful. That would probably be rude. I grabbed my coat before I said something unforgivable and ruined my plan. I left quickly trusting John to follow.

The man in the cab was looking around. Looking for his next victim? He was sitting in a patch of light; it was easy to see his face but not light enough to see details. I got the licence plate and taxi number just in case I needed to talk to the cabbie but I doubted I would, I was interested in his suspicious-looking passenger. How did he lure them in? The man sat back and the cab started to move. I needed to follow before they got away. I ran into the street.

A car honked and I jumped; going limp so I wouldn't get injured. This happened occasionally, I got too focused and lost track of my surroundings. It was pure reflex at this point and I vaulted off the bonnet across the street.

"I've got the cab number," John announced from behind me when I stopped to think.

Not important. He probably couldn't remember it correctly. Most people couldn't. I pulled up my map of this part of London. Soho... "Right turn one-way roadwork traffic lights pass light pedestrian crossing left hand only traffic lights..." That'd put him on Dean Street near Carlisle.

Perfect.

I started running, hearing John's footsteps close behind.

—-John's POV—-

"I've got the cab number," I said when Sherlock stopped. The taxi had taken off. Sherlock needed to get out of the street. He'd be hit again.

"Good for you." He said dismissively before putting his hands to his forehead and muttering about traffic lights and road work and other such things. His head snapped up and he took off, coat flapping behind him dramatically like some sort of cape.

I followed, of course. Who knew what kind of trouble Sherlock was about to get himself into?

The madman shoved someone roughly out of his way and I apologized, checking quickly to make sure Sherlock hadn't injured him. We ran inside a shop, ignoring the shopkeeper and sprinted up a narrow flight of stairs.

Sherlock didn't stop there. He found a metal spiral staircase and I wondered what in the hell he thought he was doing but didn't have the breath to ask.

"C'mon, John."

I smiled, he hadn't forgotten about me this time. I doubled my efforts to keep up. Down another spiral staircase and over a ledge onto the rooftops.

Then Sherlock leapt over a gap between buildings that gave me pause. If I fell from this height I would be seriously injured. The alley below was littered with bin bags that might have broken my fall but they were too far away. I reeled backwards.