John had been standing in line at the grocery store when he received a series of texts immediately from Sherlock.
He ignored the first two but after about five times he angrily fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open.
9:00 a.m. [John! -SH]
9:00 a.m. [John?! -SH]
9:00 a.m. [Where are you? -SH]
9:01 a.m. [I need you to come to Mayfair immediately. -SH]
9:01 a.m. [Not in trouble..it's for a case. -SH]
9:01 a.m. [Are you coming or what? I'm waiting. -SH]
9:01 a.m. [John? Hello, I need you to answer me. -SH]
He sighed and texted him back.
9:04 a.m. [Sherlock I'm getting the groceries, wait a second will you? -JW]
9:04 a.m. [Oh right. Forgot. Hurry up. I'm at Mayfair. We're going into the forest so be prepared to take a long drive. Meet me at Pike st. and we'll take a bus from there.-SH] he got the reply back almost immediately.
He moved up in line just a bit. There were at least four other people in front of him, this was why he was used to the chip-and-pin machine though he wasn't really in the mood for yelling this early in the morning.
Taking one last desperate look at the front of the line he sighed and moved his cart off to the side. The workers wouldn't particularly be happy about the excess amount of food he wouldn't be purchasing that they would have to take upon themselves to put up...but right now he was more curious as to what Sherlock was doing at Mayfair than anything, as far as he knew they didn't have a case going on at the moment.
He stepped outside into the cool October air and zipped his jacket up. It was getting pretty chilly for it to be so early in October. He walked out to the edge of the sidewalk through the crisp yellow and brown leaves that had fallen and raised his hand. "Taxi!" he said loudly but no one stopped. He didn't have Sherlock's skill of hailing a taxi whenever he wanted and he sighed after about three of them passed. He wasn't having very good luck today it would seem. He turned away from the street and started walking down the sidewalk, his hands shoved in his pocket in an attempt to keep out the cold.
As he walked he felt like someone was watching him. He turned back warily but saw no one. You could never be too sure what with having "The World's only Consulting Detective" as a flatmate and his "Private Government Official in Charge of Top Secret Matters" brother keeping him under surveillance, you never knew what kind of enemies those two had, and what they would do if they ever got ahold of him. He shuddered and walked at a quicker pace.
It was only a brisk six minute walk to Mayfair and only an additional five to find the street address Sherlock had requested he come to. As he got there -out of breath and breathing harshly- he saw the familiar long coat and scarf of the great Sherlock Holmes waiting impatiently beside what looked like a bus sign with at least twenty people crowded around. There were more people in this part of the city than the last couple of blocks and John was slightly relieved. Sherlock on the other hand looked completely uncomfortable for what reason John couldn't quite understand.
"John!" Sherlock exclaimed as he impatiently waved for him to come over. John rolled his eyes and briskly jogged the rest of the way.
"Had to run all the way here." he huffed in annoyance. Sherlock either didn't hear the tone in Johns voice or he just didn't care because his only reply was a meagre shrug.
"Ok, so what is it?" John asked, his serious tone returning to fill in for the annoyed one in his previous statement. This time Sherlock shot him a glance that he took to mean "Shut Up John As Much As I Enjoy Your Company On Most Occasions You're Becoming A Nuisance", though he had just spent hours grocery shopping for nothing and wasn't quite about to let it go that easily.
"Sherlock! Tell me what we're doing here." he snapped in a barely hushed whisper.
"John. Shut up." Sherlock hissed through his clenched teeth. This made John all the more enraged, though the only sign of this was the jab directed to Sherlocks rib.
The crowd surrounding them was quite loud at some points and eerily quiet at others. John wondered why on Earth they were waiting for a bus out to the middle of the forest and wished to ask Sherlock. That, however, got him a glare and huff from his companion. He rolled his eyes and gave up for the moment.
After at least 10 minutes of standing on the godforsaken curb, their bus was nowhere to be seen. Oh, don't think this meant there was nothing on the road whatsoever. There were cabs, and trucks, and cars, and all sorts of easily accessible vehicles zooming past them. But no-ooo, they had to wait here for some bus to take them deep into some forest to some old, decrepit castle. He sighed and crossed his arms not gaining any attention from the consulting detective who just seemed to be staring straight ahead..
5 Minutes later, John was furious. "When are we going to get on this bus?" sarcasm dripped from his every word.
"It should be here soon." he got a reply in the form of an anxious, annoyed voice from beside him. Hm, so Sherlock was annoyed at how long it was taking too? How long had he been here in the first place?
"How long have you been standing here?"
"Hmph."
"Is this just a journey on a whim or are we seriously waiting here for a bus to take us to a murder scene?"
"*mumble* Hmph."
"Can't we just get a cab?"
"NO. WE CAN'T GET A CAB." Sherlock snapped loudly than he was probably meaning to. It got him a couple strange states from various people surrounding them to which he paid no heed to.
"WELL WHY EVER NOT?!" John matched Sherlocks pitch for every note causing more and more of the crowd to turn to watch the spectacle.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and spoke dangerously low, "Because this bus is the only thing that will take us there." he seemed to be picking his words carefully.
The crowd was attentive even though they weren't exactly looking at them. John was half exhausted half confused and almost completely bent on strangling the consulting detective when the bus pulled up.
Now, John had seen a lot of vehicles in his lifetime, and though a few were far from the best times of their lives; this one took the cake. It was some sort of carriage bus and basically the Antichrist on wheels. To say the least, it was terribly ugly.
The whole crowd surged forward as soon as the "bus" opened its doors. Sherlock elbowed him in the ribs and began trying to make his way towards the bus. John took this as a sign to follow him and he tried to make his way, albeit politer, through the crowd.
By the time they got on the bus only a few seats were left. A few meaning chairs with no seats, chairs twisted up into mangled shapes, and one particular chair in which a dead dog made its presence. He held back a gag. Sherlock took his wrist and headed them both towards the less mangled, yet still somehow very unappealing, seats available in the back. John pulled against him a couple times saying he could walk by himself after a few gawking passengers, but Sherlock moved on relentlessly. They were the only two in the very back of the bus, and the only ones to have to try to sit on two beaten up, thrown together chairs. John cringed when he sat as the wires snipped at his back. Sherlock on the other hand seemed far too comfortable on the gnarled up cove of a chair he was in.
The bus's driver yelled something in the front and the bus spurted forward. He rocketed forward, barely catching himself on the metal wires poking out of the wannabe chair when the bus gradually slowed to an acceptable speed.
"Jesus Christ Sherlock what /is/ this?" he finally managed to get out. Sherlock didn't waste any time at all getting to the point after everyone's attention was focused on something different.
"We're heading to a castle. This bus is the only thing that will take us out far enough to get to the castle. The locals like to alert the police whenever they encounter 'trespassers' such as ourselves. And I have went on this bus quite a few times to get to the far out countryside of Mayfair for certain cases." he sped through his explanation with his normal clipped tone and then snuck a glance at John to make sure he was following. "Does that answer everything?" he snapped when John didn't answer right offhand.
"Oh yeah yeah, but, why exactly are we, y'know, going?" he questioned trying to gesture forward.
At this his curly haired companion gave a smirk, "The unknown offers more of a thrill than a simple case Watson." was his only response.
John just rolled his eyes.