I See You

Chapter 7: A Favor

“What?! Why would I mention you?” John spat in surprise.

And Sherlock just lost count of how many times he had rolled his eyes because of this man. Sherlock had just started to give John the instructions, and before he could even finish his first sentence, John interrupted.

“Does that mean you’re gonna send me there alone?” John asked abruptly.

“Will you just listen to me properly first?” Sherlock snapped.

“Okay, go on then.”

“So you’re going to go in there and ask for the detective inspector who is in charge there; his name is Lestrade. And you will mention my name; tell him that I've sent you. After that you’ll do exactly as I instruct you.”

John stared at him with his mouth slightly open. “And it’s the favor that you were talking about?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. Just do as I ask.”

John thought it was best not to ask any more questions just yet. So he stopped talking as questions after questions stacked up in his mind.

All the while the cab driver had been stealing glances of them, staring at John through the rear-view mirror and hastily looking away whenever John noticed him glaring.

“What is wrong with him?” John mouthed to Sherlock, motioning at the cab driver.

Sherlock lowered his gaze and blinked several times. He wasn't much jovial all throughout the ride, but now a sudden gloom came across his expression. He looked out of the window and said with his deep voice, ignoring John’s statement, “We’re almost there.”

…

“Brixton, sir.” announced the cabbie when the taxi came to a halt, looking at John through the rear-view mirror again, but not looking away this time, which meant he was referring to John for the fare. John looked at Sherlock, who had been staring out through the window for the remaining of their ride to Brixton.

“So I’ll just pay then, shall I?” declared John.

Even that didn't make Sherlock turn around. So Sherlock was just expecting John to pay? Wasn't he the one to bring John along? – thought John.

John didn't give it much thought and paid the fare. John collected his walking stick and got out of the cab. Sherlock hurried himself out after John, so John had to hold the cab door open for him.

It was dark outside; tiny drops of rain hitting their face every now and then as they walked towards an old building surrounded by police cars, tapes and officials. Sherlock was in lead, as John followed him.

“Do you remember everything I told you?” asked Sherlock.

“Yes.”

Sherlock stopped in front of the yellow tape where a female officer paused her strolling and glared at them. She looked at John, raising one eye brow; obviously waiting for them to say why they were here, which John rather hoped would be coming from Sherlock. But it didn't.

When the silence became too awkward, John broke it. “Umm…hi.”

“This is Sergeant Donovan. Tell her that Sherlock Holmes has sent you.” Sherlock told John.

It took John by surprise that he should say this to the sergeant. Sherlock was standing there, right next to him; the sergeant could see him, she could hear him. Then why he needed John to tell her that?

John gaped at Sherlock in bafflement.

“Wha-?” John started.

“Don’t ask any questions, just do as I say.” said Sherlock before John could finish.

Sergeant Donovan furrowed her brows when John changed quick glances from Sherlock to her, while Sherlock continued to stare at John, pressing him.

“Please.” Sherlock added.

Still confused about what the hell was going on, John gave in.

“I…I’m Dr. John Watson, I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock Holmes sent me.” John stammered.

Sergeant Donovan’s confused look changed into a horrid expression.

“What?” she squawked. “Who sent you?”

“Sherlock Holmes sent me.” John repeated.

Sergeant Donovan stared at him for a few seconds without blinking. “Wait here, please.”

Saying that the sergeant walked a few paces away from John, and brought her walkie-talkie to her mouth. Eyeing John very warily, she said on the walkie-talkie, “Sir, there is a Dr. Watson here to see you.”

John didn't quite appreciate the way the sergeant was looking at him, like he was guilty for something. But he was not; he was just doing someone a favour! He shifted uncomfortably where he was standing.

A man’s voice from the other side of the walkie-talkie could be heard saying with the same amount of confusion, “Who?”

“Dr. Watson.” Donovan repeated.

“I don’t know any Dr. Watson!” the man sounded annoyed.

“He says…he says freak sent him.”

The man on the other side paused for a moment; it seemed like he had stopped breathing.

When he talked the next time, his voice was much less annoyed, deep and solemn.

“Bring him in.”