The Second Hour
TWO Chapters today- Enjoy!
These were probably stolen anyway, John rationalizes as Sherlock works on the padlock keeping the garage door shut. Not thirty seconds later, they are pulling on helmets and screaming out of the alley, and they're on the A202 here inside fifteen minutes. Traffic is still light as the sun peers over the horizon, and John's beginning to enjoy himself.
That is, until they hit Picadilly, where an accident has ground traffic to a halt. Sherlock pulls up beside him and flips up his visor, the name slipping out like an expletive.
"Mycroft."
Any normal person would be a flabbergasted at this statement. John, however, ceased being normal the minute they took off after the cabbie. He's still a bit surprised, though. "Mycroft would cause a traffic accident?"
"Mycroft would stage a traffic accident," Sherlock corrects. "I don't doubt that those pretending to be involved have our pictures with a 'Security Risk' caption on them."
"Some people would classify us as a security risk-"
"Some people are idiots." Sherlock is scanning the scene, looking for an escape route. Nothing, nothing, nothing…
There.
There's a narrow section of sidewalk that isn't cordoned off by police tape, giving them a path around. He points it out to John, who revs his bike in response. Visors down.
They kick their bikes into gear and weave in and out of the cars like suicidal bumblebees, drivers responding with blasts of horns and multilingual oaths uttered through open windows.
John grins. God, I love London.
Squeaking around the accident moment s before the involved parties have a chance to register their movements, Sherlock turns around and flips up his visor, clearly mocking their inability to catch him. John can't help but grin- he's never seen his flatmate acting this childish.
Several exits and back streets later, they pull up beside a dodgy breakfast place that Sherlock swears serves the most potent coffee in London. It turns out that they also serve excellent bacon sandwiches, and John inhales several (forcing Sherlock to eat one) as they both force down some foul coffee that, admittedly, does wake them up.
John scans an early paper as Sherlock scans news headlines and maps on his phone, trying to discern what Mycroft might be planning next. The early-morning stillness, however, shatters when John begins to notice numerous patrons that appear…too typical. He points out the matter to Sherlock, who gulps the rest of his coffee and rises to his feet.
Thirty quid and the proprietor is more than happy to allow them to use the back exit, wishing them a pleasant day as he puts another pan of eggs on the stove. They've lost the bikes, but that makes little difference as they melt into the back streets that only Sherlock knows properly.
Sherlock turns another corner, excited (though he will never admit it) about this new game, this new challenge. Let's see Mycroft find us here.
