A Rose By Any Other Name | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 13

Running as fast as their legs could take them, John and Sherlock raced to find a cab that could take them to Scotland Yard as soon as possible. Cab after cab drove by, full with occupants that needed to get somewhere, inconveniently, at the same time as the duo. John had called out in frustration, stamping his foot on the ground before trying to hail another vehicle. Sherlock, unlike his counterpart, was dead silent.

Her cries echoed through his mind like silverware dropping in an empty room. Sherlock's mind kept changing track, jumping from when they first met to her cries and everything in between. Not only that, but her professed love to him put his thought processes off even more.

Did he love her? The more he batted the idea back and forth in his mind, the more uncertain he became. Even though their pasts may have aligned at one point, ten years can change a person. He knew he wasn't the same person he was in college, and he wasn't completely sure that she was either. From his experiences of seeing couples fall in and out of love (mainly John and his many companions he had while friends with Sherlock), Sherlock knew he'd have to handle this as gingerly as possible.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, come on!" he finally heard John call out. Turning towards the sound of his voice, Sherlock saw John with one foot stepping into a cab.

He had called out to Sherlock three or four times before catching his attention. The cabby was getting snippy with him, muttering something about losing other paying customers if his boyfriend didn't hurry along.

Sherlock jogged over and followed John into the vehicle. The two paid the cabby with as much money as they had on them in order to ensure that they'd get to Lestrade's as fast as possible. Soon they were zooming off into the night.

John fidgeted with his hands during the cab ride, knowing that any attempts to talk to Sherlock would be for not. One hour was not enough time to find Aryn without a viable lead to keep them going. Instead of being stuck at a dead end, they faced numerous paths and only one would lead to what they wanted. Glancing over at Sherlock, he could see the frustration in his eyes. Sherlock's hands kept changing from being folded together to balling into fists to relaxing, then repeating the pattern over again.

Looking down at his watch, John nervously counted how many minutes had already gone by. They only had 52 minutes left.

"Can you go any faster?" John asked the cabby impatiently.

"No," the cabby answered. "Don't get your knickers in a bunch. No one's gonna die if we get to Scotland Yard any later."

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They reached Lestrade's office more impatient and frustrated after the cab driver took what seemed like an eternity to reach there. John had given him a few choice words before leaving the cab, kicking a dent in the door, then following Sherlock into the building. He was sure he'd be paying for that later.

45 minutes.

"Any news?" Lestrade asked, putting down the receiver on his phone. He had been busy coordinating various teams, ensuring that if any word about Aryn was received, people would be ready to rescue her. Lestrade seemed rejuvenated, his eyes bright and his expression eager.

John looked at Sherlock, expecting an answer. To his disappointment, Sherlock remained silent.

Sherlock walked over to a chair that was in front of Lestrade's desk and sat down. His hands formed the familiar steeple in front of his mouth as he recounted the events of the day.

Looking from one to the other with disbelief in his eyes, Lestrade stood up and repeated himself. "Any news?" He leaned over his desk, his arms supporting his upper half as his fingers gripped the desk's surface. His knuckles turned whiter the longer the room remained silent. Lestrade's brow furrowed. His jaw clenched tightly as he looked down at his desk.