Chapter Text
I had chosen the restaurant for the views onto the boulevard, the candlelight and the privacy.
There was candlelight and boulevard in spades, but I suppose when you’re sitting like a goldfish near a twelve foot high pane of glass set against the intersection of two very public streets, privacy should at least be questioned. More so if your best friend is a brilliant detective with apparently too few cases and who, more importantly, is surely insane.
“I think he’s pointing at you.” My date, Catherine, said and gestured towards Sherlock with her wine glass.
“No. He must want someone else. Someone without reservations that took a month to….” I hazarded a glance up and saw Sherlock gesturing like a windmill from me to up the street. There I saw the semi-truck that should not have been allowed onto London streets, the police lights flashing like fireworks behind it. I am no genius, but it does not take a Sherlock Holmes to see a truck that size at that speed would never make the tight turn around the boulevard. It would lose control and jackknife into the buildings-and the restaurant. “Oh, god!”
I stood and shouting and pointing and finally running, made my way with a crowd dressed to the nines away from sure disaster. I remember pushing my date into safety as the awful sounds of breaking and shattering, cracking and shrieking that had pursued us this whole way caught up to me and seemed to swallow everything whole.