“What do we do now?” John asked, pulling off the side of the highway.
“Hail a taxi, sell your car, John, at that nearby rental shop. It’ll be a bit harder to trace that way.”
John’s lip twitched in a smile. Turning to the passenger seat, he asked, “A rental shop? You can’t see, how did you know—,”
“Oh, for God’s sake, John! Have you no faith in me? I didn’t spend my months here like a sedentary fool. I drove around lots, got to know the in’s and out’s. I could identify where we were by familiar sounds, smells, and bends in the roads. Now, would you kindly go do as I ask; we don’t have much time. Take Alana with you if you have difficulties. Make her wear my coat since she’s just in a gown.”
The doctor pulled back onto the highway, changed lanes, and veered off onto an exit that led him straight into the parking lot of a car rental shop. After parking, John let out a loud sigh and turned to Sherlock. “I sure hope we can sell it on the spot.”
“It’s a nice car, John, I’m sure they’ll buy it right off your hands. Let Alana do the talking.”
“Wait, why do I have to go if she’ll be talking?” John argued, opening the driver’s door.
Expressionless, the detective replied, “Your helpless demeanor will make whatever man talking to you feel far more masculine. And also, he won’t be thinking much about the car when Alana’s there; he’ll be automatically competing with you to impress your wife with car knowledge, whether he knows it or not. Just trust me; you’ll be able to sell the car.
John opened his mouth to debate before Sherlock barked—,
“It won’t be a woman! Laterz!” He gave John a careless wave and listened as he heard both of them exit the car and close the doors behind him.
Like a lark, he hummed to himself and tapped his foot impatiently. Remembering he was still wearing his hospital gown over his clothes, he ripped it off, balled it up in a tight bundle, and stuffed it in his pocket. He then drummed the wind sill with his fingers, and stopped to examine his nails once in awhile even though he knew he couldn’t see them. As the minutes crawled by, Sherlock broke into whistling and busied himself also with wrapping the seatbelt around his hand in boredom. He also jerked the belt until it caught itself and then he would release it, just to ear the loud whirling sound of its retraction. After a moment or two, he heard John’s footsteps and the driver door opening.
“How much did he give for it?” Sherlock demanded.
“Ten-thousand in American dollars!” John chirped, slapping the check into Sherlock’s awaiting palm.
“Did she lean down?”
Alana popped her head between the two and giggled. “Of course, I did, Sherlock. Did practically everything to distract him from rejecting us; and John was a good sport, too. I really like your coat; it does some lovely things when the wind blows!” She pulled the collar up about her cheeks and snuggled against them.
“Very good. Can I have it back?”
Sighing, Alana removed the coat and handed it to Sherlock. “Where did you get it?”
“My father,” the detective replied coldly. His stony face ended the conversation there.
“I just got to pull the car into the garage, hand them the keys, and then we can be off,” John explained as he shifted gears and drove the car to its final destination.
After the three had settled the trade, they headed towards the curb where they hoped to flag down a taxi. On their way to the street, Sherlock, who stood between the two, leaned over to John and said hastily, “What was I thinking? Forget the taxi, get a bus. It’d be harder for the driver to identify us if he’s asked. Though, don’t think anyone could forget a man whose face is wrapped in bandages!”
“True, we’ll just sit in separate seats and such, and stagger our getting off and such. You and Alana can get off at the first stop, I’ll do the second, we’ll phone each other and meet up,” John suggested.
“Sounds excellent,” Sherlock agreed. “Speaking of phone, I got a text. Read it for me, John. It’s either from Mycroft or Rawlings.”
John stopped and reached into Sherlock’s pocket.
“Other pocket,” Sherlock directed.
“What?”
“Won’t repeat it, John.” A gust of wind whistled over Sherlock’s words, making the poor doctor yell.
“What?”
“I said, ‘won’t—, oh, never mind!” Blindly, Sherlock grabbled for John’s arm just so that he could display his annoyance through a hard shove. Mumbling to himself, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Flipping it on, he showed the screen to John. “Read it.”
Snatching it from his friend, John squinted and held it close to his eyes. It says, ‘Sherlock, don’t meet me at office – cancel your flight, and meet me instead at this address: 2234 Bellwood Drive, Monmouth County, New Jersey 08852. I think it’d be safer that way. – E. Rawlings’.”
Tapping his chin, Sherlock hummed. “Why New Jersey? Well, obviously, it sounds like some secret has gone on while we were away. He doesn’t want us to meet him at the office, but wants to meet us somewhere else? Does that sound suspicious to you, John?”
“Yeah, mhmm. The fact that he mentioned ‘safer’, is either a good sign that he’s on our side, or the opposite. But, perhaps his arm’s being twisted?”
“Well, we don’t have much time, let’s get a bus and flight to New Jersey.” Sherlock eagerly shook his fists and pounded his feet in excitement on the concrete.
“You’re not bored anymore, Sherlock?” John questioned as he took Alana by the waist and began their walk up the sidewalk.
Laughing, Sherlock replied, “Yes! Yes! Quite! Though—,” Sherlock’s words stopped as he tripped over an elevated crack. He caught himself and resumed his sentence, “I do wish I didn’t have this bothersome bandage on! Oh well, I’ll accept the challenge.”
John chuckled at Sherlock’s anything-but-optimistic tone of voice. “No, really, Sherlock, be tolerable. Your sulking is more irritating than when you’re telling me I’ve gotten something wrong.”
The sound of the bus coming to groaning halt, sent a thrilling chill of Sherlock’s spine. John had a point—he could use his blindness to his full advantage. He had always relied on his own eyes, but maybe in this case, they could deceive him. Smirking as he boarded behind John and Alana, Sherlock thought about all the more clues he could pick-up with his just remaining senses. Feeling his way around the bus, his hand passed over John’s short, shaggy hair – he was sitting in the fifth row back, right side. Sniffing, Sherlock located Alana seven rows back, left side. Sherlock took the back seat, right side.
He rubbed his hands together and chuckled to himself. All the way to the airport, he repeated softly to himself, “Why, Rawlings? Why the new place? Who are you afraid of? Who are you running away from? Who threatened you?”