"He just got in a cab."

Me and the other officers in the room look up at John when he spoke up. John turned to the man in charge, "It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab."

"I told you, he does that." A woman spoke up, turning to the man in charge too. "He bloody left again. He doesn't even work with us and here we are because he withheld evidence. He shouldn't be helping us, we're wasting our time!"

"Wasting your time? If it were left to you then you'll be here until March trying to figure this out!" I couldn't help myself. I know that it had been awhile since I've been in contact with Sherlock, but he was still my friend. Out of everyone I had encountered in my life, Sherlock was the most extraordinary. He was brilliant -- I couldn't let them think that he was out there doing nothing, because surely he had an idea. He wouldn't just leave. Plus, I was known to be the mouthy one who didn't know when to shut up. So I didn't surprised myself when I started to go off on her.

"Excuse me?" She began, stopping in her tracks and giving me an irritated glare.

"You heard me." I snapped, "Sherlock knows what he's doing."

"How do you know? I bet you hardly know him!"

"I know him more than you." I retorted, glancing around at everyone in the room, "In fact, balance of probability, I know him better than anyone here. I understand Sherlock can be a pain in the ass, but he's clever. Cleverer than all of you put together." I told them, not thinking before speaking. I looked at the dark-haired woman again. "If you don't like him, fine. But don't you dare try and convince others he isn't good enough because without him you'd all be solving this case a lot slower and you know it."

"I don't mean to sound rude, but who are you?" The man asked, turning to face me as he crossed his arms.

"Ella," I answered, "Old friend of Sherlock's."

"Detective inspector Lestrade." He held his hand out, to which I shook in return. So this is the guy Sherlock liked to pick-pocket.

"I'm calling the phone. It's ringing out." John spoke up, as if he was trying to change the topic of conversation. I released my hand from Lestrades.

"If it's ringing, it's not here." I said, mainly to Lestrade who thought Sherlock had somehow managed to drop the phone. I glanced at John again, "I told you that locator could have been inaccurate."

"I'll try the search again." John mumbled, going back to the laptop. The woman I really disliked returned to confront Lestrade, and I just watched the scene unfold, trying to keep myself calm.

"Does it matter? Does any of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time." She divulged, before making eye contact with me in particular. "All our time."

I gritted my teeth, and pondered whether or not I should lash out again. I spent a lot of my youth defending Sherlock, some habits don't die I suppose. I have to give myself a moment to make sure I'm not wearing a huge scowl. But then again, I don't see a reason to why I should hide it.

Lestrade sighed loudly, "Okay, everybody. Done 'ere."

It didn't take long for everyone to pack up their things and leave -- not that there was much to pack up, anyway. I glanced around the flat in disapproval of the mess that the officers had caused during their 'drugs bust'. Or maybe the mess was already conjured up by Sherlock, I couldn't tell. He was never one to clean up his mess unless he was absolutely bored.

Sighing, I turned to John. We we're both alone now, which didn't make me feel as awkward as it should considering we were strangers.

"So..." I began, unsure on what to say. "How're you?"

John stares at me, a little taken aback at my question. He nodded softly, "Good, you know. Considering what just happened."

"I think he has a plan," I told him, and he knew who I was talking about. "He always has a plan."

"I hope you're right."

Just as I was about to speak up again the laptop on the dining table beeped triumphantly. We both hastily turned our heads to look at it, before walking closer to get a better look. A different location on the map had now appeared, and me and John exchanged anxious looks.

"You should phone up that inspector guy."

"Good idea." He nodded in agreement, reaching for his phone. I picked up the light laptop, making sure to keep the Mephone's website on as I made my way out of the apartment, John following after me.

"Where are you going?" He called, rushing down the stairs after me. Once I reached the ground floor I turned to face him, and he stopped on the second step.

"The taxi driver Mrs Hudson kept nagging us about; the one Sherlock got in." I explained, "The location said it was in Baker Street when the taxi was here, and now that the taxi has drove off the location changed. It makes sense!"

"You... You think the driver is the murderer?"

I nodded, "Maybe, I don't know. Who do I look like to you, Sherlock Holmes?" I say rhetorically, "Come on, we have to get there quickly. Sherlock got into that cab, like a bloody moron." I muttered. Although I was the closest friend Sherlock had in the past, I always failed to understand why he did the things he did. I opened the front door and raised my hand, calling a taxi over. You would have thought that under certain circumstances that the last place I'd want to be is in a cab, but I doubted John drove with that intermittent tremor thing. And we needed to get there somehow.

"I bet Sherlock already figured that out," John started, annoyance lacing his tone. "Why did he get into the taxi? The police were right upstairs!"

"Because it's Sherlock." I mumbled, before leaning closer and telling the driver where we wanted to go. Roland-Kerr College, according to the location on the Mephone website. It felt like we were playing hide and seek, where Sherlock was hiding and we had to seek him out. Meanwhile, John is currently trying to get into contact with Lestrade, but it doesn't sound like he's getting any luck.

"No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It's important. It's an emergency!" He demanded, his phone to his ear.

After what seemed like a very long time, John got into contact with Lestrade. We also arrived at the college, to which there were two identical buildings in front of us. I sighed, tucking the notebook into my coat. Unfortunately the map isn't precise enough to indicated where the phone was exactly, so me and John have to quickly make a decision.

"Should we both go in that one?" He asked, nodding his head towards the building on the left.

"Maybe you should take that one, and I should that one on the right." I suggested, thinking it'll be easier if we split up. He nodded in agreement before we departed, making our way into one of the buildings by ourselves.

I didn't waste any time. I began running through the corridors, trying to find Mr 'let's hang our with a murderer!' Holmes. I keep running from door to door, making sure to check each one by peering through the small windows on them. "Sherlock!" I called out, opening certain doors and looking inside to make sure I didn't miss him. "Sherlock!"

I've just managed to get onto the third floor. Still, I'm checking each room at a quick pace -- even in the God damn janitors closet. Just as I'm about to check another classroom, a gunshot rings out and echo's throughout the halls of the uncluttered, subtle seminary. I freeze in my tracks, the worst scenarios flooding my mind. I began to shake slightly, but nonetheless I continue. I look through each door, knowing it was one of these rooms on the third floor from how close the gunshot sounded and the shattering of glass reverberated around the empty building.

Finally, I enter a room and see Sherlock standing -- thank God. He looks rather angry as he leaned over something, or someone. I sigh with relief when I confirm to myself that Sherlock is fine, and make my way closer.

"MORIARTY!" The man lying weakly on the floor cried out in agony, a large pool of blood underneath him. His eyes close and his head rolls to the side, and I watch with my lips parted in shock. Sherlock steps back, he's eyes finally landing on me.

"Eleanor." He breathed, his features softening. "When did you get here?"

"Just." I mumbled, eyes trailing down to the unconscious man on the floor. "Is he--?"

"I don't know." He cut me off, stepping forward. He reached his hand out and placed it on my arm comfortingly, meeting my eyes. "You okay?"

I nodded.

"Good." He started, glancing back to the body and then back to me. "We should get out of here." He said, guiding me out of the room. He didn't once look back to the man who had clearly been shot. He probably didn't even care. I also didn't know if Sherlock was the one who shot him or not, but I didn't bother asking. I didn't really want to know.

It was silent as we walked down the hall, and soon the noises of police sirens filled the air, getting closer and closer. Sherlock cleared his throat, causing me to glance up at him. "I promise it won't be like this all the time." He said.

"It would be a bit boring if it wasn't."

He smiled, which was a pretty rare gesture for him to do. So I took in that perfect image and savoured it. "Missed you."

"Miss you too." I grinned.

Overall I'm just glad that I've managed to find him again, it really is a small world. I just know I'm going to go back to my hotel and reflect on how crazy this night had been, but being around Sherlock had never been candy-floss and fairies, but that was fine with me. It always had been.