Author's Note: Hello there reader! This is my first fanfic so please no flames! I would really appreciate it if you could leave a review after reading to point me in the right direction :D I am willing to take request for other ideas, vague or detailed. Thanks for reading!
You Went On The Tube Like That?
Sherlock sighed internally. The case had been a relatively interesting one, after all, it wasn't everyday that one was required to brutally spear a wild boar to help obtain crucial evidence; but now his brilliant mind was bored beyond belief!
Sherlock glared at several passersby who had stopped dead in their tracks, forgetting completely about whatever they were involved with in their dull little lives, to stare at the man with the blood-stained shirt who was grasping a deadly weapon in his right hand. A little girl tugged at the bottom of her mother's dress and pointed towards him. The mother glanced down to find out what her daughter was looking at and gasped in shock. She told her daughter that it was rude to point and steered her in the opposite direction, making to cross to the other side of the road.
Sherlock had been trying in vain to attract the attention of a taxi for almost half an hour now. Well, he had certainly caught the drivers' notice, but not in a way that would make them feel obliged to stop. Finally, he gave up and started trudging purposefully towards the entrance to the tube. Luckily for him, the automatic ticket machines had been repaired or else he would have been forced to have what would certainly have been a very awkward conversation with the ticket sellers. He marched confidently through the side gate of the ticket barriers and waved an ID card with Mycroft's name on it in the general direction of the ignorant security guard who was, obviously, having an affair with his son's primary school teacher. The middle aged and slightly overweight guard did a double take at the slightly intimidating sight before him, which Sherlock found marginally entertaining, then examined the card and grudgingly let him pass.
Sherlock followed the signs that would lead him to the nearest tube station to Baker Street, further disturbing the already hectic throng of passengers who were queuing to get on the same train line. The crowd parted to let him through and some teenagers shouted abuse whilst a young boy of about eight pretended to wield a sword in defence of his family. It was a good thing that tube trains arrive quickly, or else Sherlock may have found himself in a rather inconvenient scenario with the mindless, blundering fools that claimed to solve crimes. Of course, Mycroft's name could get him into anywhere at any time, but Sherlock didn't want to be delayed; he just wanted to get home to another few nicotine patches.
The train sped into the station and ground to a halt. Sherlock was the first person to get on through the door nearest to the others; nobody wanted to let him out of their line of sight. Thankfully, it being past lunchtime on a Wednesday, the tube was relatively spacious and so Sherlock had a seat to himself. Several seats, in fact, as nobody seemed to feel brave enough to sit too near him.
Five or so stops came and went. Sherlock smirked at the gob-smacked expressions on the new passengers' faces and the seemingly relived ones on the people leaving the train. One man though, bald, tattooed, probably early thirties, sidled up to him and whacked Sherlock on the back appreciatively.
"Hey, great costume mate!" He grinned. "Where are you off to, then? Fancy dress party?"
Sherlock simply fixed him with his cold, calculating stare and the guy backed off quickly, which was wise of him.
The rest of the journey passed relatively peacefully and when Sherlock finally reached his stop, he hurried out of the train and started heading back to 221B. On the way home, Sherlock briefly contemplated buying some milk and bread to take back to the flat, but he decided against it. That was John's job anyway. He tried to stop at Lloyds Pharmacy to pick up some nicotine patches but the shop assistant refused to serve him and he was ushered out of the door forcefully. Never mind, Sherlock thought; Lestrade was bound to have another case for him soon enough.