John was standing in line at the grocery store when he received a string of urgent texts from Sherlock.

He had successfully ignored the first two, but when he could no longer withstand the incessant buzzing in his pocket he gave a sigh and fished it out of his pocket.

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 at Mayfair. Right now. -SH]

9:01 a.m. [Not in trouble. It's for a case. -SH]

9:02 a.m. [Are you coming? -SH]

9:03 a.m. [John? Hello I need you to answer me. -SH]

He sighed and texted him back.

9:04 a.m. [I'm getting the groceries, wait a second will you? -JW]

9:04 a.m. [Oh right. Forgot. Hurry up. Meet me at Pike st. and get ready for a long drive. -SH]

The line moved just a fraction. There were at least four other people in front of him and their carts were completely filled. This is why he was used to using the chip-and-pin machine, though he wasn't really in the mood for it 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. He knew the workers wouldn't be particularly happy about the full cart of food that would have to be put back, but it sounded like this was something infinitely more important.

John stepped outside into the cool October air and zipped up his jacket. It was getting pretty chilly for it to be so early in the month. He walked through the crisp yellow and brown leaves and out to the edge of the sidewalk. "Taxi!" He raised his hand as he shouted, but no one stopped. He didn't have Sherlock's skill of hailing a taxi whenever he wanted and he sighed after three of them zoomed past. Luck was not on his side today. John turned away from the street and started walking down the sidewalk as he attempted to warm his hands in his jacket pockets.

It was only a brisk six minute walk to Mayfair, and only an additional five to find the street that Sherlock requested he come to. As he got there -terribly out of shape and breathing harshly- he saw the familiar long coat and dark blue scarf of the great Sherlock Holmes. He was waiting impatiently by a bus sign with no less than twenty people crowded around him. There were more people in this part of the city than there had been in the last couple of blocks and John was slightly relieved. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked completely uncomfortable for reasons John couldn't quite understand.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed impatiently as he waved for him to come over. John rolled his eyes and jogged over the rest of the way.

"Had to run all the way here." he huffed in annoyance. Sherlock either didn't hear the tone in John's voice or he simply didn't care because his only reply was a halfhearted shrug.

"Ok, so what is it?" John asked seriously, crossing his arms and shooting a glance at the people crowded around. 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 wasted hours shopping for groceries, and he wasn't going to let it go that easy.

"Sherlock. Tell me what we're doing here." he snapped in a barely hushed whisper.

"Not now." Sherlock hissed as he clenched his jaw. This only made John more enraged, though the only sign of this was an impatient tap of his foot on the concrete.

The crowd surrounding them had varying dynamics, being loud at some points and eerily quiet at others. He wondered why on Earth they were all waiting here. His best guess was that they were waiting on a bus, but why? He wished he could ask Sherlock what this case was even about. That, however, got him a glare and huff from his companion. He rolled his eyes and gave up for the moment.

After an agonizing 10 minutes on the godforsaken curb, their bus was nowhere to be seen. Oh, don't think this meant there was nothing on the road. 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 god knows where. He sighed and crossed his arms which didn't gain any attention from the consulting detective who just seemed to be staring straight ahead..

Five minutes later, John was furious. "I thought you told me to hurry. I could have got the groceries and been home at this rate. What are we waiting for?"

"It should be here soon." he got a reply in the form of an annoyed voice from beside him. Hm, so Sherlock was annoyed at how long it was taking too? How long had he been waiting here?

"How long have you been standing here?"

"Hmph."

"Is this just a little journey on your own whims 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 cannot get a cab." Sherlock snapped loudly than he meant to. It got him a couple strange stares from the crowd that surrounded them.

"Well WHY ever not?" John matched Sherlock's pitch for every note, which caused 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 very carefully, "And it's not a murder scene." he shot a pointed glance.

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 Sherlock when the bus pulled up.

Now, John had seen a lot of vehicles in his lifetime, and though a few were far from new...this one took the cake. It was some sort of a carriage bus that, to say the least, was terribly ugly. He could only dub it "The Antichrist on Wheels."

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, only a few seats were left. A few meaning chairs with no seats, chairs with the stuffing ripped and strewn across their seats, and one particular chair in which a dead dog made its presence. He held back a gag. Sherlock took his wrist and headed back towards the less mangled, yet somehow very unappealing, seats available in the back. John pulled against him a couple of times saying he could walk by himself, 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 snapped 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 driver yelled something in the front and the bus rocketed forward. John did as well, until he caught himself on the chairs in front of him. The bus gradually slowed to an acceptable speed as he settled himself back down into the uncomfortable seat.

"Christ Sherlock, what is this?" He finally managed to get out. Sherlock didn't waste any time getting straight 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 don't take very kindly to 'trespassers' such as ourselves and they like to alert the police. That's why I would have appreciated your cooperation at the bus stop." 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 all your questions?" He snapped when John didn't answer immediately.

"I guess…..but, I mean, why exactly are we going?" He gestured forward as if it solidified his question.

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 and looked out the window at the houses speeding past….