Thank you to anyone who read, alerted and reviewed the previous chapter. I'm really enjoying writing these and there will undoubtedly be more, so watch this space! Once again, please review if you enjoy it! Constructive critisism is ALWAYS welcome!
Chapter 2: Priorities
They sat in the taxi on the way back from Scotland Yard, allowing the splendour and charm of moonlit London to absorb them as the events of the day washed over John's mind, and Baker Street grew ever closer, along with the prospect of a hot bath and a long awaited and well deserved sleep.
The case - according to Sherlock - had been 'transparent', 'obvious', 'unoriginal' and 'unimaginative' yesterday. Now, however, the criminal had been - according to Sherlock - crowned 'brilliant', 'genius' and 'deliciously insane'. So John found himself sitting in the back of a taxi with the worlds only consulting detective, who was – and there was really no other way to describe it – rambling.
'Brilliant John!' He declared for the twenty-seventh time. Possibly the twenty-eighth. 'He really knows how to play this game! I'll admit, I really had no faith in the case up till now, but the analysis John! The analysis! So elegant! Intricate, even!'
'Yeah, yeah that's great Sherlock. Absolutely.' Replied John, in a bored and uninterested monotone that would usually send Sherlock over the edge with the level of tedium that it consisted of, but he was too busy wrapped up in the murky abyss of his own thoughts to care about the fact that John was currently more interested in something outside the cab, maybe a dog, John was fond of dogs.
'Now, all we have to consider is of course the - '
But John was the only one who had noticed the drunken driver of the speeding Toyota a few seconds previously, and with the excruciating screech of tearing metal and the shattering of breaking glass, the two vehicles collided.
And in the space of a few more seconds, multiple things happened.
The careless driver of the Toyota – who had neither attempted to swerve or even wear a seatbelt– flew in his seat, sending his own head through the windscreen and, as his body and internal organs lurched forward, his ribs stayed behind, cracking and piercing his heart. That man died instantly.
The driver of the taxi on the other hand swerved by instinct, his synapses working to create a reflex circuit, but unfortunately this did not stop the Toyota slamming into the rear left side of the taxi. That man would suffer from shock and possibly a mild headache, which would both fade in time.
Sherlock Holmes – who had been sitting in the middle seat, with the lap belt – was roughly pushed out of harm's way by John and consequently ended up hitting his forehead on the opposite window with a sickening thud, crying out in pain but otherwise fine. John Watson's arm was caught between the imploding door and his own seat, after using the other arm to ensure Sherlock's safety. It couldn't even be described as a reflex, not really. John's purpose, in that one moment, had been to protect his best friend. Despite how much of an irritating person he could be at times, John loved him. It's funny, peculiar, how one person's actions, with the most disastrous consequences, can reveal another person's priorities. Those two men ended up in hospital the next day, with a broken arm and a concussion, but both relived inside with the thought that the only scars that the other would bear would be the memories. The reminiscent remains of that infamous night. The night John Watson's priorities were revealed.