I had almost fallen asleep when we jerked to a stop. My helmet clanked against Sherlock's and we both uttered a low groan. I pulled the heavy head-protector off and shook out my helmet-hair before looking around. I had no idea where we were. We were parked in front of a clothing store, deep into the sketchier bit of London. I hopped off and Sherlock followed, gesturing me towards this clothing store with the bright yellow sign. The cashier inside actually seemed excited that we'd come in, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. I assumed it was because he didn't get much business in these parts as Sherlock and I browsed the inventory.
We spent maybe thirty minutes in the changing room before Sherlock opted for a pair of sweatpants and a black tee and I found a comfortable pair of jeans and a long-sleeve blue, v-cut top. We left the clothes on, since the store didn't operate with a tag system. Or at least that's what I was told. Sherlock grabbed me a new coat with a hood and got a pair of sunglasses for the both of us. He threw all of our old laundry into the trash, except his signature coat of course, and we went to the counter to pay. I pulled my wallet out of my new, not as deep pocket. The man behind the counter shook his head vigorously and waved his hands.
"For Mr. Holmes. My friend!" The man exclaimed, still looking glad. I was confused, but made no protest. My brother returned a light smile to the man.
"Thank you," He said before ushering me out of the place. Clearly we were on a schedule and time was of the essence.
Next door was a pharmacy, which I followed Sherlock into. I thanked him for the clothes as we walked through the mechanical sliding glass doors.
"You're welcome," He replied, snatching up a red basket in his long fingers. The bright florescent lights of the pharmacy made my eyes sting slightly after so much time in the dark. I'd finally gotten adjusted and was exhausted, so this was less than pleasant.
"Get some water," Sherlock ordered. I complied with this wish and scooted off to the cooler aisle. Not having a basket, I grabbed as many bottles as I could before it was too much to hold and still close the cooler door. The cold of the bottles burned my skin of my hands and wrists as I searched for my brother. Finally, I found him in the haircare aisle, basketing a box of generic black dye; for me no doubt. I cringed. Black hair was the one color I had refused when I went to America. Black dye made you look like you were hiding something. I dumped the bottles of water into Sherlock's basket and warmed my red hands in the pockets of my new jacket.
"Where will we go?" I inquired, following Sherlock to the counter.
"Somewhere safe," He said to me. I rolled my eyes. Always so mysterious. I guess it runs in the family. On the counter before us was a box of cigarettes. The people here really knew him. Hadn't he quit, though? I thought about his answer, wondering inwardly where I could be safe. I trusted Sherlock, but I also knew the strength and scope of this man who hunted me.