A Study in Pink (Sherlock Holmes X OC)

SIX- Taxi Ride of Doom

Sherlock opened the front door and stood on the doorstep, shrugging himself into his coat. He felt bad for not being completely honest with Anita, but this was something he had to do by himself. The cabbie was leaning against the side of his parked taxi.

"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes." he stated. Sherlock shut the door and walked towards the cabbie.

"I didn't order a taxi," Sherlock replied.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one," answered the cabbie.

"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you, not your passenger," Sherlock realized.

"See? No one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer," the cabbie bragged. Sherlock took a few more steps forward before looking upward at the windows of his flat.

"Is this a confession?" he questioned.

"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: If you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise," explained the cabbie, though the smugness in his voice said overwise.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Cause you're not gonna do that," the cabbie revealed.

"Am I not?" Sherlock added.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing," the cabbie told Sherlock, leaning forward off the car before continuing, "I will never tell you what I said."

Sherlock stared at him, and after a moment the cabbie straightened up and walked around to the front of his cab.

"No one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result," Sherlock responded, though when he said 'they' he might as well have said Anita's name. Her whole life, she had dedicated it to saving life's. The driver stopped and turned back to face him.

"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" the driver asked, finally opening the driver's side door and sitting down. Then he closed the door. Biting his lip, Sherlock walked closer to the cab and leaned down to look over into the open passenger side window of the cab.

"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?" Sherlock questioned curiously.

"Let me take you for a ride," replied the cabbie, turning around to look at Sherlock.

"So you can kill me?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't want to kill you Mr. 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer... and then you're gonna kill yourself," the driver turned back to the front as Sherlock straightened up and considered his options. Had Anita been there, ever his moral compass, she would have been on the phone with the whole of Scotland Yard by now. But Anita wasn't there. So with his mind finally made up, he opened the rear door, climbed in and slammed the door shut. The driver started the engine and off they went.

All while this was happening, Anita and John were still upstairs trying to get the computer to load again. Anita was about five seconds away from shooting it. John had walked over to the window at some point and held his phone to his ear. He had seen the whole scene play out on the sidewalk, also seeing Sherlock get in the cab and drive off.

"He just got in a cab," John whispered, just loud enough for Anita to hear.

"What?" Anita asked, looking up from the computer, her gaze softening.

"It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab," John repeated.

"I told you, he does that," Donovan told John. Anita let out a huff at Donovan but didn't say anything. Donovan then turned to Lestrade.