Chapter Text
Sherlock Holmes slid into the back seat of the taxi like a man entering a laboratory, not a vehicle. His eyes flicked once across the upholstery, the driver’s posture, the faint smell of cardamom and cheap air freshener. He exhaled.
“221B Baker Street.”
“Oh ho! Tourist?” the driver said immediately, voice bright, relentless. “Big fan of detective shows, are you? I’ve had many like you. Last week one man, full costume, hat and all. You people are very dedicated.”
“I live there,” Sherlock said flatly.
“Live there! Very good joke, sir. Very good. You should do stand-up. I know a place—”
“Drive.”
The driver chuckled. “Ah, a serious one. I respect that. Silence is also a form of conversation, you know. Many philosophers say—”
“Drive,” Sherlock repeated, sharper.
The car lurched forward.
Three seconds of blissful quiet passed.
“So what do you do then, Mister Lives-At-Baker-Street?”
Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. “Consulting detective.”
“Consulting! Very fancy. I also consult. People ask me best route, I tell them. Sometimes they ignore me, then traffic jam! I say, ‘See? You should listen!’ So really, we are same profession.”
“We are not.”
“Hmm. You solve crimes?”
“Yes.”
“Any murders today?”
“Not yet.”
“Slow day then. For me also. Only two arguments and one man who refused to pay exact change. Society is collapsing, I tell you.”
Sherlock leaned forward slightly. “Left at the next junction. Avoid the high street.”
“Ah, shortcut! You know the roads. Good, good. But actually, I know better route. My cousin—he drives this same area—he says—”
“Left,” Sherlock said, voice like a blade.
The driver went right.
Sherlock opened his eyes. “Why did you turn right?”
“Trust me, sir. Experience. Also, left has a pothole. Very bad. Swallowed a bicycle once.”
“That is not how potholes function.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Sherlock stared at the back of the man’s head, then sighed. “Fine. Continue.”
“Thank you. Trust is important in a relationship.”
“We do not have a relationship.”
“Every passenger-driver is a relationship. Temporary, but meaningful. Like life.”
“Drive faster.”
“I would, but there is a speed limit. Law is law. You, as crime man, you understand.”
Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose.
“So,” the driver continued, undeterred, “what is the biggest case you’ve solved?”
“I am trying to solve one now.”
“Oh! Active case. Exciting. Can I help? I have very sharp observation skills. For example, you have not slept well, you likely skipped breakfast, and you are slightly annoyed.”
Sherlock blinked. “…Go on.”
“And you stepped in something unpleasant earlier.”
“That is mud.”
“Of course. London mud. Very suspicious.”
Sherlock leaned back slowly. “You deduced that from what?”
“Your face in the mirror.”
A pause.
“…That’s not deduction.”
“Still correct.”
Sherlock considered arguing, then decided against it.
They hit traffic.
“Ah,” the driver said cheerfully, “see? If we had gone left, we would also be in traffic. But here, we are in different traffic. Variety is important.”
Sherlock’s jaw tightened. “How long?”
“Hard to say. Time is an illusion in traffic. Minutes feel like hours. Hours feel like—well, also hours.”
Sherlock pulled out his phone, tapped rapidly, then froze.
“What now?” the driver asked.
“You’ve taken us three streets parallel to where we should be.”
“Yes.”
“In the wrong direction.”
“Yes.”
“…Why?”
The driver shrugged. “Conversation was going so well, I thought we extend the journey.”
Sherlock stared at him in disbelief. “You deliberately prolonged the route?”
“Of course. You are interesting. Most passengers just sit and look at their phones. Very boring. You, you have energy. Tension. Story.”
Sherlock leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Turn this vehicle around.”
“Ah, but now we are committed to this path. Like in life. You cannot always go back—”
“Turn. The. Car.”
“Okay, okay! No need to shout. Very sensitive.”
The taxi made an awkward U-turn.
Silence fell again.
Two seconds.
“So, consulting detective,” the driver said, “if you had to solve the mystery of why my wife is always angry—”
“Stop the car.”
“We’re in the middle of the road.”
“Stop. The. Car.”
The driver pulled over.
Sherlock threw money forward. “Keep the change.”
“Oh! Generous. See, we do have a relationship.”
Sherlock opened the door, paused, then said, “You are the most inefficient human being I have encountered today.”
The driver beamed. “Thank you! Come again.”
Sherlock stepped out, then leaned back in slightly.
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You do have a pothole on the left route.”
“I told you!”
“It’s avoidable.”
Sherlock slammed the door and walked off.
The driver watched him go, then nodded to himself. “Nice man. Bit dramatic.”