ShErLoCk oNeSiEs

Roots (Part Three)

"Where are we headed?" John craned his neck to get a better look out of the window. "What are we doing?"

"We," Sherlock thrummed, fingers flying on his keypad, "are frolicking."

A frown creased John's forehead. "Hmm?"

"We're going back," Sherlock said, frustratingly cryptic. "Quite a long way."

"Is this a childhood throwback I don't know about?" John asked, suddenly antsy. "Because if you've scheduled a cheery reunion with Della Harbret, I'm jumping out this taxi right now."

Sherlock's eyes widened in panicked sympathy. "Not that far back."

John caught Sherlock's eye and tilted his head away as he laughed.

"She was a right pain," John said sincerely. "Do you remember-"

"-how she'd snort louder than a tuba when we hung out? Course." Sherlock shuddered at the onslaught of memories. "Poor girl. Truly believed you and I were a match made in heaven." He chuckled, although if John had listened well, he'd have heard the discomfort in the low baritone.

"She was pitiable," John agreed, not meeting Sherlock's eyes as he examined the outside world, which used to terrify him before he joined the army.

Looking into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes made that fear shrivel up and die like a wilting leaf.

The awkwardness in the taxi so was so strong that the cabbie probably felt it and got them to their destination in record time. John's eyes scanned their location, his jaw forgotten as it began to drop.

"Sherlock, that's the London Eye."

"Yes, John, brilliant. Good to see evidence of your fully functional brain."

"Isn't that where-"

"-your mother wouldn't let us go for your birthday because we had to take Harriet if we went and she was too scared? Yes." Sherlock had climbed out of the cab, walking briskly towards the huge wheel in the middle of London.

"So, what are we doi-" John's steps halted as he started to follow the Sherlock, who turned around with that glint in his eyes. The look that made John brave or foolish enough to do anything.

"Seriously?"

"I mean, it is your birthday."

John didn't know what to do with his facial features, so he looked mildly paralyzed for a second or two.

He almost laughed, until he was pinned by Sherlock's eyes, hovering six feet above the ground.

"You're in-" credible, "-sane. You're absolutely insane."

"Tell me something I don't know," Sherlock grinned, falling into step with his best friend.

"Can't, really." John shot him a lopsided smile, trying to hide the way his insides squirmed when their hands brushed.

"Shame," said Sherlock, pulling out tickets. "Here we are. One for you-" he exaggerated the motion of handing John a ticket, "-and one for me."

"You know this thing is slower than my grandmother's brain and mainly for observational purposes?"

"But there's so much to observe, John, don't be derogatory to our city," Sherlock feigned heartbreak.

"Shut up, you loon," John said, stepping past Sherlock and into the little compartment. "Get in."

~

The wheel was probably halfway to the top, moving excruciatingly slow. You could see the bustling city, and a smoky gray horizon, and the cars on the other side of the universe, and Sherlock still refused to sit down.