Fan Fiction: Taxi Driver in Sherlock S01E01
Jeff slowly navigated the divergent London streets in his black taxi, instinctively snaking his way through the heart of city while his mind wandered. There was so much to process, so much he had to figure out- and what better place to do that than the front seat of his cab, where he felt he had spent his whole life. People standing on the precipice of the pavement waving frantically at the taxi threw angry looks at Jeff's empty seat, and he suddenly felt overwhelmed by all the hate and negativity that surrounded him in the world. The people he drove around the city closed themselves off by pretending he didn't exist; they treated him as though he were built in to the taxi for their benefit. He had tried to have conversations with the people he drove about, but no matter how interested some seemed in what he had to say, it was ultimately just a way for them to waste the ten minutes they were trapped in the taxi. Others didn't even pretend to be interested, just spat an address at him and lost themselves in their own world. Jeff thought back to when he first started working as a cab driver. He hadn't meant for it to be permanent, but after his first child was born his need for money eclipsed his need for variety in life. He had convinced himself that he could enjoy driving people about, had confidence that the diverse groups of people he drove around would provide sufficient intellectual stimulation, but those dreams had long since faded as he stagnated in the separated island that was his drivers seat. He had been considered intelligent once as well, had graduated from a respectable university with a psychology degree. That was all in the past now, things had changed. Jeff had changed.
It was earlier that day when he had been diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. He was being betrayed by his own mind, and the cold, distant doctors had told him that they didn't know how long he had left. Jeff's life had flashed before his eyes, condensed to two brief moments- A dark black road seen from behind a clear windshield, yellow and red lights of other cars leaving trails along a pitch black night as his taxi raced through unmoving traffic, and his two little girls at various ages, brief windows into the lives of his daughters who he wished he had the chance to see more than he had, wished he had saved more for their futures. It had struck him that his life could be reduced to something so insignificant, made him think back to all the regrets he had made in his life. Being informed of his rapidly approaching death had made Jeff lose grip with reality, he felt numb and broken simultaneously. How would he tell his already distant ex wife, and would she even care? Would his daughters even realise him missing? The taxi slowed to a halt at a red light, but Jeff didn't take in his surroundings, immersed in his own pain and loss. His door was suddenly opened by a tall, immaculately groomed man wearing an expensive suit, immersed in his phone, and Jeff looked at up at him in his mirror with dull eyes.
'I'm not taking any fares.' Jeff said in a defeated voice and resumed staring at the unmoving car waiting in front of him.
'And I'm already exactly where I need to be,' the man retorted with short, clipped words, not looking up from the small screen in his hands. 'You're so much more important than you think you are, Mr. Davis.' Jeff looked up again sharply, suddenly drank in the man's face. He was young, and had perfectly symmetrical features. Jeff didn't trust something about the man, but didn't know what was holding him back.
'How do you know my…' he began, but soon saw his identification card in the man's line of vision. 'Oh, I see. You saw my name here. Well I'm sorry, but I'm really not in the mood for any silly games, so I'm going to have to ask you to leave my taxi.' His passenger smiled wryly, and finally looked up at Jeff's mirror. As their eyes locked, Jeff saw a glimpse of malevolence in the way he looked at him, and realised why he didn't trust him. He was a man capable of unspeakable acts.
'Jeff. The light's green.' he said, indicating the traffic light that had, indeed, turned green. Jeff snapped back to reality, heard the cars beeping their horns angrily behind him, and slowly started driving his car. 'Much better,' the man said smugly, 'now, there are a few things we should probably sort out. My name is Jim Moriarty, and you don't know me. I've heard a lot about you though, Jeff- some of that positive, some of it negative. Don't look so worried! I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to make you an offer.' Jeff sat up straight, and replied boldly,
'I'm not afraid of you hurting me.' At these words, Moriarty became contemplative, and said softly,
'No… No, I don't suppose you are.'