They pulled up in front of the hotel, and Sherlock (who had never bothered to buckle his seat belt) jumped out of the car before it had come to a stop, vaulting up the steps to a third story hotel room. It was a typical California motel, with the hallways being open air and steps against the sides.
He kicked in the door, gleeful at the fact that there sat a middle-aged, squirrelly little man who was yelling 'don't shoot!' in spite of the fact Sherlock wasn't even armed.
"... John Watson, let me present to you the mastermind of the jewel trafficking in Orange County."
Granted, it would have been a lot more impressive if the man in question hadn't just wet himself.