[COMPLETE] 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕀𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕨「Sherlock」

031; Come Back To Baker Street

Traffic, just as he had promised. "One second, don' worry. We'll get you blokes there on time, jus' give me a few..." Wrenching around in his seat, the driver prepared to back himself up, when suddenly another vehicle pulled up behind him, boxing them in. Somebody laid on their horn rather obnoxiously. Late for work. Sherlock and John, having also peered over their shoulders, growled and hissed in frustration as if they had been off the jackpot by only one number. "Blast. I'm sorry. Anythin' I can do?"

The detective let out the air he had been holding so tightly within his lungs and pulled up Julia's number on his phone, leather-adorned digit tentatively hovering over the call button as if it were the ultimate decision between life and death. "I'm afraid not," John exasperated at his side, running a hand over his face and fixing his gaze upon the rather distressed driver.

The precious seconds were melting away before their very eyes. Sherlock could envision the redhead stepping up off the platform and into the overground train, carry-on in hand, prepared to head back to her dull life where she would be sucked back into the constant rhythm that was waitressing and struggling to pay rent. More importantly, she wouldn't be happy anymore. Julia wouldn't smile like she had while being twirled around 221B's stuffy den, surrounded by red and green bursts of brilliance— or perhaps she would and Sherlock was only trying to make himself believe that she wouldn't go out drinking or go dancing with another man. His own selfishness forced itself upon him and Sherlock found himself hoping that she would not end up finding another man to spoil her, nor for her to swoon over. Jealousy and greed were a twin-headed snake that had not even shown her face, and yet Sherlock could already feel her coiling around his throat and flexing her fangs oh so dangerously close to his jugular. She was a looming phantom; a sickening nectar that always managed to find its way into his veins; a vision of what the future held.

The door flew open. Another second passed. He ignored John's cry for him to wait, the blisteringly cold air and blinding sunshine feeling like a calculated slap in the face. Sherlock's feet met the asphalt and he soared over the hood of a neighbouring vehicle, a stranger barking at him from behind the windshield as he careened for the sidewalk. John could be heard dashing after him, the dynamic duo racing down the street at full tilt, knocking past people and just barely skimming poles and benches until they finally rounded the corner and the station came into view. His Belstaff billowed out behind him like a cape, sable tresses tossing in the wind until they were unkempt and wild. They threw themselves into the open doors, where Sherlock just barely grazed by the metal frame of the door as he leapt past the woman holding the glass exit open for him, earning a curt nod from a breathless John Watson who was in hot pursuit.

"Sorry!" the detective heard his army doctor apologise loudly after colliding with a completely unsuspecting man and his great nephew, judging by the awkward distance and wide age-gap. Without much more than a glance, he felt himself being suddenly tossed into a dither, hands shaking uncontrollably as he picked out the final gates that would lead him past the ticket booth. Sherlock remembered his mad sprint through London to get to the underground and effectively escape from Zielinski's henchmen like it was yesterday. His heart was hammering in his ears louder than it had been that evening with Julia holding his hand tight enough to draw blood with her dainty nails.

He staggered to a stop suddenly, taking rapid glances in all directions. "Do you even know what train she'll be on?!" John puffed as he caught up. Just as the man slowed his pace, Sherlock was back to the grind, earning a groan from his army doctor as he sped away. Too many late nights sitting at his desk in the clinic, he suspected. Was John out of touch? As quick as lightning he bowled past a clump of people, ignoring the shout of a security officer and the flash of his yellow vest as he began to pursue him. Of course they would find someone running to be an immediate threat, especially in such a packed building, yet still, he weaved and ducked until he was out of sight, taking the escalator down to the platforms below.