"Will you come?" Lestrade asked.
"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind," Sherlock replied.
There is a reason Sherlock doesn't like riding in police cars, it's probably not what you think, though. Some memories are just so strong they won't go away.
The metal cuffs clicked shut and Sherlock tried unsuccessfully to shrug away from Police Constable What's Her Name. He hadn't meant to get caught up in the raid, but his judgement had been impaired because he was coming down off an exceedingly spectacular high, which meant he was experiencing an exceedingly miserable crash. His head hurt, he was suddenly very tired, every single person in the room was getting on his last nerve, and he thought he was going to be sick. Never again would he mix his pharmaceuticals with cheap vodka. Ever!
The door of the Panda Car slammed shut and he slumped into the seat. This was not what he had planned for his last weekend before Uni started. Mummy and Daddy were going to be furious!
"Hey, Shezza," the skinny kid in the seat beside him mumbled before pitching forward and emptying his stomach contents at Sherlock's feet. Sherlock thought there might actually be vomit on his shoes. The pungent odour burned at his nostrils and he felt the sting of bile at the back of his own throat.
"Oh, God, what have you two done to my car?" the PC…?Donovan?...groaned. "Well, nothing to do about it, you're just going to have to sit in it until we get to the station."
Sherlock gulped, "Oh, bollocks!"