Who Sherlock Holmes & The Doctor What The Consulting Detective has the Phone Box When Friday. Where Cardiff Status Incomplete/Closed Rating Low
He'd follow Moriarty to the ends of the earth if he had to. Really, the ends of the earth would have been a bit favourable over the second-rate hotel he'd managed to fetch himself in Cardiff but it was what it was. He had to stay low-key and relatively under the radar which meant not flashing about his brother's all access codes or credit cards. The small hotel room suited him just fine; all he really needed was a place to think -- sleeping was a luxury he couldn't afford until he knew exactly where Moriarty was in the city and he hadn't quite gotten that lucky yet. Even he hit a dead end sometimes -- more frequently, of course, when he was following Jim.
There was a part of him, a very tine part, that was quite happy with the fact that Moriarty wasn't actually dead and that the game wasn't quite over. It also seemed safer to let it play out here as far away from Watson as was possible because the last thing he wanted was to see John, Greg or anyone else he cared about caught in Moriarty's crosshairs once again. This was meant to be a game for only the two of them to play and this time it really would be to the death.
Holmes stood leaned up against his window, scanning the view of the few streets ahead and the not-so-distance clocktower. He swept his gaze from left to right and then, a moment later, swept it back. At first his shook his head, convinced that he was mistaken, but there was, now, a 50s-style police call box where there certainly wasn't one just seconds precious (and he knew that because in the wall a few feet behind the box, and now obscured by it, there was a window with green curtains that he could no longer see but knew was there). His immediate thought was that this had something to do with Mycroft and possible surveillance that he most certainly didn't want and so without hesitation he snatched up his coat and left the hotel to investigate further.
He wasn't really thinking about the fact he should probably not waltz about in the open -- seeing as he was meant to be dead -- but at the moment he didn't particularly care. He was like a dog that had caught a scent. Nothing beyond it mattered at all and he approached the public call box almost arrogantly because he was sure this was his brother's work. Who else would have access to one of these relics?
"Hello?" He tried the door and, finding it locked, dug into his pocket for his set of picks. Not one of his wisest decisions: picking the lock of what was presumably police property in broad daylight, but he didn't care. The lock, to Sherlock's annoyance, proved to be a surprisingly difficult one but after a few moment's work and a hard nudge the door opened inward and Holmes half stumbled into --
-- Well, into not the inside of a public call box, for one.