It took a while for his brain to actually compute what had happened. For a moment or two he was just sitting on the pavement looking around confused. Then suddenly, a wave of happiness over came him. He jumped up and landed on his feet screaming "Yippee!" for the first time in his life. Sherlock couldn't have been smiling more widely when he stretched out his arms and turned around three times, looking up. He still couldn't quite grasp the truth. He was outside! He was free! He was no longer a prisoner! He was...

Sherlock stopped spinning and frowned when he realized what he was.

He was a wanted criminal.

Sherlock turned his head around frantically. The delivery trucks had to be somewhere along the long grey wall he'd once thought was impenetrable. He couldn't see them anywhere.

Come on... They have to be here somewhere

Sherlock snuck along the wall thinking he'd find the garage eventually. All of the sudden, he heard an engine start behind him.

"Damn it", he whispered, turned around and started running towards the sound. The garage was integrated into the wall, which was why Sherlock hadn't seen it. He could see the delivery truck starting to peek out, and his pace quickened to the same speed as just before the door had closed. While the truck was turning he was still able to catch up well. The truck was now completely out of the wall, but needed to use all the parking space to get into a position parallel to the street . Sherlock kept on running, his goal still clearly visible to him. The truck was now basically in the correct position. He had to catch it before it reached full speed. He was ten feet away now. At three feet the truck started moving. Just as it drove off, Sherlock jumped into the air and grabbed hold of a bar attached to the side of the truck with both hands. He was now hanging onto the truck with no leg support. He looked around, and realized his hands were slipping. Then Sherlock finally noticed the small metal bar, which held the license plate. Sherlock let himself slide down the bar he was holding and carefully placed himself on it. He wouldn't be able to stand without continuingly holding on, but that would be enough for now.

As the truck curved onto the highway Sherlock pressed himself against its back as flat as possible so that as few people as possible would notice him. This would be a short ride anyways. After a couple minutes Sherlock felt a sting and for the first time since he was out he remembered that he had a broken wrist. It probably wouldn't be a helpful hand if he were to lose his balance, but to keep it, it was sufficient. Sherlock needed some time to think about step two of his plan. Somehow, the improbability of step one actually working had stopped him from even thinking about it. But here he was, fresh out of Pentonville Prison, hanging onto the back of a delivery truck, planless. Sherlock had to chuckle at the thought. He then became serious again, but somehow he was just too overwhelmed and thrilled to think. Every time he started to he'd just come up with:

"I am actually out of prison!"

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at his situation. He didn't mind the foul smell of deisel stinging his nose, the obnoxious sound of car drivers angrily beeping their horns at each other, the break lights, the gigantic puffs of black, ugly smoke coming from the factories beside the highway, just because it didn't remind him in any way of Pentonville. However unappreciated all those things were for him, he certainly wasn't bored now.

Sherlock peeked his head around the side of the truck to have an idea were he was. There was a sign saying that the exit to central London was a mile away. Sherlock gasped. He doubted the truck was headed there. Quickly he weighed out his options. There must've been a camera somewhere near the garage, so the guards had to know he was here. That meant it was safer to get off, as then they'd only be following the truck and not him. But that, however, meant he'd have to jump off the truck onto the highway. Even Sherlock knew how dangerous that was, but after this whole day, he decided that he would do it. He wasn't letting one lane between the exit and the truck get in the way of his freedom now. Sherlock looked back and found that the exit was coming up very soon. Now he had to make his way to the left edge of the vehicle, so that he'd be on the highway the least possible amount of time, but that involved letting go of the bar for a second. Sherlock slowly brought his feet to the middle of the truck. He was completely crooked as he was still holding on. Now all he had to do was grab the bar on the other side of the truck. Quickly he closed his eyes and let go, swinging his arms to the other side and grabbing hold of the opposite bar. Sherlock sighed and pulled himself to the left end. The exit was now in sight and Sherlock got ready to leap. He took a few deep breaths, waited for the truck to pass where the actual car exit was, and jumped.

Sherlock managed to fly over half the lane and crashed down onto the road, landing on his side. He groaned, but then he remembered where he was. His eyes ripped open and immediately he started rolling across the lane and into the emergency area. Sherlock quickly got up and jumped over the fence. He then followed the exit lane from the side until he finally was on the main road. Sherlock was exhausted and started walking slowly. Finally he was in a part of London he knew and he could relax a tiny bit. Without really thinking about where to go, he just randomly wondered around the city when suddenly he saw a street name.

He at first didn't give it any attention, but then he looked back and realization crept over him.

He was on Baker Street.