[COMPLETE] 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕀𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕨「Sherlock」

031; Come Back To Baker Street

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"LISTEN, MATE, I CAN ONLY TAKE YOU AS FAST AS THE LAW WILL ALLOW ME," the cabbie reasoned, frowning at John in the rear-view mirror. Perhaps halfway down the street to the station, Sherlock had caught sight of a cab and his hand had flown up into the air, shouting loud enough to wake the rest of London on that early morning. Even John had flinched. As soon as the vehicle had stopped, the doctor had thrust cab fair at their driver and urged him to take them to London Euston as quickly as possible, yet it seemed that they wouldn't be getting the service they required. He was a stubborn fellow. "The traffic has been hell all over London this mornin'. Might want to put away your money for now, son."

Sherlock bit his tongue against a string of astringent words that begged to be spilled and pulled out Gregory Lestrade's badge from the inside of his Belstaff, flashing it at the man. If he weren't going to listen, then he would make him listen. He couldn't miss this opportunity: John had made that evidently clear. The driver's strained expression visibly slackened and he leaned himself over between the seats, head screwing around to peer at Holmes through smudged glasses. He was a few years past middle-age, had two half children and five failed marriages. He was surely a blast to have at parties, especially with such a love of alcohol and marijuana. Sherlock could smell it on his clothes and his sour breath, even from the back of the automobile. A fully-grown man, still trying to play the role of a teenager.

"Official business of Scotland Yard," he announced, austere and unimpressed. He needed to play the part. This wouldn't be a problem, given the sudden fright that painted the cabbie's face. Idiot. "Be a good chap and drive."

"Y-yessir, sorry sir!" stammered the stubborn driver, turning the keys with scrambling hands and stepping on the gas. Their ride gave a jerk and they pulled out into the buzzing streets.

John remained tense, peering out the window for a moment before clearing his throat. "You should return that," he muttered as low as possible.

"It's practical for tough situations like this, you have to admit."

"Fair enough."

Snow whizzed by as the small black car clipped along. As time progressed, the pair checked their phones and impatiently eyed the radio's glowing numbers. Three minutes passed before Sherlock's knee began to bounce. Deep down, he could not keep himself patient, no matter how much he attempted to remain with his head above it all. It was a smooth course that he had planned out from their home at Baker Street to London Euston. However, each time the cab would slow at red lights or stop behind a line of cars, he would grow more and more anxious. Perhaps they should have taken the tube after all? Then again, there was always the possibility that the particular train they would need to take would be delayed and they wouldn't make it before Julia was to head back to Glasgow.

Brows permanently knit, it seemed, the detective glanced at his phone from where he had gazed out the window. There was a heavy gap of silence that was beginning to weigh upon both of the Baker Street Boys as time ticked on. Four minutes: they turned the corner of Cleveland Street to their right, approaching Drummond. The vehicle straightened and the cabbie hissed under his breath, coming to a complete stop behind a long string of cars. Sherlock's head quickly snapped around. "What-"