Sherlock could easily have been mistaken for a statue, for how long he stood there, motionless, watching the baggage retrieval system. EvenJohn, who usually shared a brain with Sherlock, couldn't have said what was going on in his head. As John feigned brisk alertness, his mind not really on the task at hand, he couldn't help but sneak admiring glances towards his companion. His thoughts move far faster than my own. Despite how long he had worked with Sherlock, John Watson was no less amazed by the swiftness of Sherlock's mind then of the day he met him.
Suddenly, Sherlock raised his hand. "The small, black one."
John looked at the bag that Sherlock indicated. It was unremarkable, worn in multiple places and looking as if it has seen better days. As far as John could tell, there was nothing on it to suggest criminal activity.
"This one? Sherlock, are you sure?"
When he was answered by silence, John turned around, to see that Sherlock and the bag had taken off.
Once again. "Bloody hell, Sherlock! Always going off, never giving a damn as to what others feel about it..."
John's complaints continued long after he, too, took off, though in no direction in particular.