Sherlock and John

Revelation

As the taxi pulls up outside the train station I stare in wonder as Sherlock suddenly becomes interested in the real world again.

'John.' He says, flinging open the car door, and dropping some notes into the taxi drivers hand.

'Yes.' I sigh. He glances over to an alleyway, and pulls me into it, I try to not look too conspicuous but we still receive knowing glances from people.

'John.' He whispers, 'I have assigned a certain sector of the homeless network to try and track this man down. Soon we will receive news from them about his whereabouts.'

'But how?' I ask, amazed at the way he has planned this out.

'They do what they're told. And thank god, they do it well.' He says, pulling me back onto the street. I watch him, and instantly come aware that this is the part he enjoys best. The increase of adrenalin, the time running out. All of it contributes to him, the way his eyes light up, his posture improves, and he looks like he wouldn't swap places with anyone in the world at the point.

He pulls out his phone, and dials quickly.

'What is it?' I ask, trying to peer over his shoulder.

'Quiet John.' He says, pushing me away. He lifts the phone to his ear, and starts speaking quickly and quietly.

I can't make out anything he's saying, so I shuffle over to the train station and look at some of the schedules. There's a train to Baskerville going at 4. I smile and scratch the back of my head. Good old Baskerville. That was probably the most terrifying case I have ever dealt with as a part of Sherlocks team.

But with Sherlock, you don't ever get round to doing the relaxing work. But you know what, that's why I love it.

That's why I love Sherlock.

But you didn't hear that from me.

I turn back to him and see that's he's watching me, his collar pulled up to his chin and his cheekbones standing out even more. His cold blue eyes track my movements as I walk back over to stand next to him.

'We need to get inside.' He says, his eyes shining over for the second time this morning.

'Buy a ticket.' I say, surprised at how someone like Sherlock could completely miss the obvious.

'No no no no no.' He sighs, shaking his head. His waves of black hair tussle and drop as if they were almost alive.

'The person we are dealing with,' he says looking down his nose at me, 'is someone who could probably hack into the train systems three times over. They will know if we buy a ticket, and they are probably aware we are onto them. Also, judging by the precision of the ripping, they probably have an app built into their phone that will alert them if we do.'

'God Sherlock, how did you figure that out!' I snap, irritated by the way he says this so nonchalantly. As if everyone could do what he just did, or figure out what he just realised.

No answer.

He sweeps his coat up and heads toward a bench. I sit next to him, and watch as his eyes scan the passing people. I hear him mutter his little observations, over the sound of the crowd.

'Going to meet with her fiancé.

Cheating on his wife.

Bunking school.

Nervous about an interview.

On their way to a job...

That they hate.'

I slide a palm down my sleep deprived face, and slump back in the chair. It's too clever for me.

He's too clever for me.

How could I ever think that I could tag along with this... With this walking and talking computer.

Maybe I should just leave.

It's not like he needs me.