Chapter 9: In which John has Grounds to Wear his Hat
Sunday was quiet at 221 B Baker Street. John napped a little, and spent an undue amount of time looking at his cell phone, wondering if he should call Mary. He read instead, and wondered where Sherlock was.
Monday was about the same, except John spent his day at the clinic wondering if he should call Mary, and wondering where Sherlock was. When he got back to the flat, Sherlock was waiting for him.
"Keep your coat. Do you have a scarf? You should have a scarf. Don't forget that silly hat. Are you ready? You should probably bring your gun." John was alarmed by Sherlock's fussing over him; it seemed almost maternal, except for that bit about the gun.
"Right. Where are we going?" John asked, even as he checked his gun and stuffed the hat in his pocket.
"I've been tracing the One-Legged Man for three days now. Come on, Lestrade is waiting."
In the taxi, Sherlock gestured to John without looking at him. "You should at least text her."
"What?" John was still surprised when Sherlock seemed to read his thoughts.
"Mary should probably be informed that we are about to close her case. Why? What were you going to say?" Sherlock arched an eyebrow at his friend, who obediently pulled out his phone to send the message.
The taxi dropped them at the police docks at Waterloo Bridge, where Lestrade was waiting next to a police boat. Sherlock eyed it critically. "Is it fast?" he asked Lestrade.
"It's the one we use to chase drug runners. Between the dogs and the boat, I'm spending an awful lot of my budget on you, Sherlock."
"Not on me, Lestrade. On Bartholomew Sholto and Mary Morstan. Besides, how long has it been since you were on one of these? How fast can it really go?" Sherlock leapt nimbly aboard, eager for the chase. John pulled on his hat and followed, less nimbly, remembering why he'd chosen the Army over the Navy. Lestrade and the pilot each gathered up a mooring rope to cast off before they climbed aboard.
Sherlock, John, and Lestrade followed the pilot to the boat's small bridge, swaying together as she gunned the engine and the boat lurched away from the dock. John leaned towards Sherlock and shouted over the sound of the engine, "So, where are we going?"
Sherlock explained, "Mordecai Smith's boat went in for repairs, suddenly and without any apparent mechanical problems. Its problems seem to have been primarily cosmetic; it was green, but now it's blue. The One-Legged Man is trying to give us the slip, but I don't think he will."
Sherlock linked his hand through John's elbow, and gestured to the clear sky, bright with stars, and to the river, shining with reflected moonlight. Pulling him closer, Sherlock leaned down so he wouldn't have to shout, "It's a fine night for it."
Lestrade shouted some instructions to the pilot, who aimed the boat for the opposite shore. "You gentlemen could go below where it's warmer," she shouted, hoping they would take the hint and clear off her bridge. She shrugged as they ignored her. Lestrade kept his binoculars trained on the water's edge; Sherlock was focused on the middle of the river. John was peering into the distance, trying to think about the blue boat he was looking for and not his flatmate's grip on his arm.