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“This has gone pear-shaped.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” John Watson looked over his shoulder. “Where are the pigeons?”
“Still in the lab, if we’re lucky.” Sherlock wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was half-sprawled on the floor and half-plastered against the wall next to the last doorway they’d thrown themselves through. It felt undignified but then so was being chased by a flock of maniacal hunting pigeons. “Are you sure you locked the door?”
“No, I am not sure. I shut the door but I have no idea how to lock anything since this place apparently doesn't believe in having actual keys. Bloody smart homes.”
“Not a home.”
“You know what I mean. Was the angler fish really worth all this?”
“We’ll find out. We were asked to find it for a reason, and I doubt it’s a purely sentimental one. Especially since it was in an extremely secure box.”
“A lock box. For a fish.” John shook his head and examined the box he was holding. It was smaller than he’d expected for an angler fish, but then he’d never thought about how big they actually were. “It had better be worth it. If I find out we went through all this just to help a damn fish play Free Willy, I’m going to kill something.”