"Bloody London," Gwen muttered, glaring out of the window at the traffic that surrounded them. The sound penetrated even the glass of the SUV's windows, the constant drone of life that they found themselves right in the middle of, and she didn't like it one bit. Cardiff was at least peaceful, not counting the alien lifeforms that took it upon themselves to run rampant through it.
"Aww, lighten up Gwen," Jack grinned from the front, turning to grin over his shoulder as Ianto pushed button to change the traffic lights up ahead. "Breathe that city air!" He reached for the dials that controlled the windows and wound Gwen's down, much to her annoyance.
Brown hair whipping her face, Gwen narrowed her eyes and closed the window, looking more than unimpressed. "We've been driving for almost four hours now, Jack, and we don't have a clue where these people are."
"Yeah, well," Jack muttered, turning around to sit properly and tapping away at the Tracker again. "Someone's helping them – our signal keeps getting blocked, and then whenever I get close their signal gets diverted."
"Must be someone high up, then," Ianto commented, twiddling the wheel as they undertook a roundabout, eyes skimming over signs and street names. They were driving rather aimlessly seeing as Jack couldn't find a fixed point at which to start their search and it was incredibly frustrating to repeatedly get so close only to be batted away at the last minute. "Wonder what they want."
Something in the kitchen exploded, prompting John to wince into his cup of tea. Sherlock had seemed perfectly innocent not ten minutes ago when John had gone out to make the drink, but thinking back, the detective had made a point of shielding that far surface from view while he did so. With a short sigh, Johns set the still-full cup on the coffee table and got to his feet, edging out into the kitchen, preparing himself for the worst.
"Sherlock?" He gave the room a once over as his flatmate spun around, expression the picture of innocence.
"Yes John?"
"What're you hiding?" John's voice was more tired than demanding; they'd been through this scenario too many times for it to be a surprise anymore. At least there were no blood splatters up the wall; that never boded well.
"Nothing, John," Sherlock replied chirpily, his smile overly bright as he forced it onto the doctor. "Did you text Mycroft back? Tell him I'm not going anywhere?"
"No," John said testily, eyes narrowing. "Tell him yourself."
Sherlock sighed and shook his head, curls flopping over his face until the man swept an impatient hand through them. "I already told you that he won't listen if I tell him. I tell him to piss off all the time. Look – give me your phone and I'll do it."
"No!" John said quickly, his hand moving instantly to cover his pocket protectively. "I'm not having the British government thinking I've told him to piss off."
"Why do you even care?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes. "He's just being nosy, he-"
"He's offering to help us," John retorted, frustrated. "You and bloody Torchwood, why couldn't you just give it a rest?"
"Because, John," Sherlock said quickly, voice deepening as he stepped forwards, expression intense. "All their files are secret, they're hidden – they barely even have a trail to follow and the only time there's any trace of them it's to do with weird crimes. The ones that should be my cases. But I can't find them, because they're impossible to trace, even with half of Mycroft's passwords I can barely get-"
Something loud exploded on the counter behind the detective and both men winced, Sherlock spinning to gape at what used to be his experiment and now resembled a melted pile of metal and a few flames flickering along the worktop. "Now look what you've done!" Sherlock cried, gesturing at the mess as John hastily threw a glass of water over the small fire.
"Sherlock! That was Mrs Hudson's saucepan!" John knew this because all of theirs had had to be replaced by cheap versions that didn't matter so much when they were destroyed.
Sherlock shrugged indifferently. "She wasn't using it," he said, striding away and leaving John to sort out the mess in the kitchen. He fell onto the sofa with a long-suffering sigh and stared blankly up at the ceiling. "If they're coming, why aren't they here?" he said after a long moment of silence, during which John had tried fruitlessly to carve the metal from the work surface. "Why, John?"
"Maybe Mycroft was wrong?"
The detective laughed humourlessly, giving no other reply. John shrugged. "Maybe they don't really care?"
Sherlock laughed again, this time with a meaner lilt to it. "If they're that secretive they'll want to know why someone was searching them," he said with relish, clearly anticipating the arrival of a new adventure. "They'll come after them, probably with the intention of silencing them. This is an organisation that people obviously aren't supposed to know about."
And naturally that meant that Sherlock would destroy everything in sight in order to find out as much as possible about said organisation. John sank into his armchair with a sigh to match Sherlock's, shaking his head. "Would it kill you to live a quiet life for a week?" he questioned, exasperated.
"Probably."
"Alright, we have a heading!" Jack called out, far louder than necessary considering that the whole team were sitting within three feet of each other. He lifted the Tracker with a smirk and shook it in Ianto's face. "Not far from here, apparently."
"C'mon then – where is it?" Gwen asked impatiently, leaning forward to peer at the Tracker with interest.
"Hang on, it's gone all-" Jack spent a few moments frowning at the device, punching a number of buttons while cursing beneath his breath before grinning again. "Baker Street," he announced triumphantly, setting the Tracker aside now that it had, finally, fulfilled its use.
"That's it?" Ianto asked, glancing over. "Just the street name?"
"Nope," Jack said, still grinning; evidently the seriousness of the situation was rather lost on the captain. "We've got an address. 221b Baker Street."