A/N: BBC Sherlock making an appearance for this one. :-)

Prompt 14: From goodpenmanship – locked room mystery.

Unhurried Heroics

John glanced at the closed door before turning his gaze to the woman guarding it. She was dressed in an orange skirt and suit jacket resembling a Jet2 air hostess, though she looked anything but hospitable. He was pretty sure cuffing people wasn't a sign of welcome, unless he was taking part in some sort of gaudy Valentine's stunt. John cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I don't think this is a good idea," he said cautiously.

She grinned, aiming for menacing but falling several miles beyond the wayside. Her teeth were so white that John wondered if she brushed them with Vanish and then used bleach as mouthwash for good measure. They were blinding in their intensity.

"I'm sure your detective will be fine," she purred.

John ignored the emphasis. "Yes, he will be. But he's not the best person to test this theory on."

She sniffed, her tone brusque. "He'll come to save you, will he not?"

Would he? John wasn't so sure. Sherlock often had the attention span of a fish, darted from one extreme to the next. John knew he ranked fairly high on his friend's list of priorities, but if Sherlock knew John wasn't in immediate danger he'd likely piss off to stick his nose in someone else's business. It's what usually happened.

John opened his mouth to reply, when there was a concession of noises beyond the locked door. Bolts scraped, chains fell, gears shifted and then the door opened with a shriek that badly needed smothering with WD40.

Sherlock entered the room with an exasperated expression. "Well, that's five minutes of my life I'm not getting back."

The woman gaped at him, her jaw pretty much grounded, as John knew it would be.

"I did tell you," John told her. He held up his cuffed hands to Sherlock and said, "Get these off."

It took Sherlock no time at all to figure out how to remove the cuffs. John heard on average it took people eighteen minutes. The detective did it in eighteen seconds.

"Where's Lestrade?" John asked.

"He's in the second room," Sherlock said, his demeanour bored already. "Reckon he'll be a while."

"Hang on," said the staff member, finding her voice, even if it came out squeakier than Joe Pasquale. "How. How did you get through so fast?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Unless you cheated, I don't see how it's doable."

"Of course you don't." Sherlock rolled his eyes. He tugged on John's elbow, pulled him to his feet impatiently. "A word of advice, if you're going to ask me to trial out an escape room, at least make it worth my while."

End