Welcome to Baker Street

12. Backup

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock exclaims furiously, looking at the D.I. and the officers waiting in a police car pulled up to the kerb in front of 221B.

Lestrade gives him an annoyed look and replies with an ironic smile, "Nice to see you, too. Again."

Sherlock forces his way out of the door and shoves him, muttering, "I hope this isn't another of your pretended drug busts."

The inspector glowers at his rudeness but retorts serenely, "Not this time. I contacted John."

The detective's head whips towards his friend. "You? You told him to come?"

John tilts his head guiltily. "It wasn't an official invitation."

"He simply texted me back. Unlike you. Do you know how many times I've tried to communicate with you tonight?" the D.I. interrogates him.

"At least three," Sherlock recalls, mentally counting all the texts he had received (and ignored) in the last fifteen minutes.

"Yeah, and you never answered."

Sherlock keeps his fiery eyes fixed on John. "Did you really call the police?"

"I simply told him where we were going. You talked about terrorists; it's dangerous, we might need backup."

"Wait, what? I thought you excluded the victim could be a terrorist," Lestrade intervenes, dazed, and Sherlock sighs, exasperated.

"That's ridiculous, by the way. This isn't backup; those are guard dogs. Have I been placed under house arrest?"

The inspector takes some steps forward menacingly until he is just a few inches away from the detective and barks at him, "Not yet."

"Enough fighting," John chimes in. "There's a woman on the run and a bunch of terrorists are tracking her down as we speak."

Holmes nods and turns on his heels. "Well, then. Off we go."

"Sherlock, you can't go on your own. This case concerns the police," Lestrade cries out angrily.

Sherlock turns his head to look directly into his eyes.

"Far more than that, Inspector. It concerns England, possibly another country. Do international relations fall within your division?"

Greg grimaces but doesn't utter a sound. Holmes smiles smugly.

"As I thought. Have a good evening." He walks in the middle of the road to hail a cab.

"Wait, Sherlock, I'm coming with you," Lestrade shouts and catches up with him. Before the detective has time to protest, he adds, "I want to understand what's going on, for once. This is my job, and I won't allow you to steal it."

"Fine. But we're not going there in a police car."

Greg seems about to explode. "Stop behaving like a toddler and start reasoning—"

"I'm not having a tantrum," Sherlock interrupts him, rolling up his eyes. "A police car with flashing lights would definitely draw attention, making the whole neighbourhood aware of her position. Do you want to have her killed?"

"Who?"

Sherlock shoots him an eloquent look.

"The real Cathy Baaral."