"Sherlock, this is a car."

"I know what a car is, John."

"And this is a lonely stretch of country road."

"I can see that, John."

"And this is the device that will save my life."

"A giant pillow strapped to your chest?"


"Your confidence in my driving skills is positively heartwarming."

"As long as it doesn't kill me in the process."

Sherlock gave a derisive snort before deftly sweeping, coat and all, into the driver's side of the vehicle. John likewise made his way to the car, molding himself into the passengers' side not unlike a bejumpered marshmallow.

"You look ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed, starting the ignition and gunning the engine in one fluid motion.

"Give me your scarf. I want to blindfold myself before my execution."

"Shut up, John."

The little car spun onto the roadway with a screech and began to pick up velocity.

"You can lay off the accelerator, Sherlock."

"How fast can this thing go, anyway?"

"That other pedal. It's called the brake. Feel free to use it any time."

"All in due time."

John tightened his seatbelt for the eleventh time. "You remember the address?"

Sherlock gave John a long look.

"Right. Of course you do. You probably memorized the number of cows in the vicinity as well."

"There weren't that many cows."

"For God's sake, Sherlock!"

"What is so shocking ab-"

"Car!" John shouted as his hand shot out and yanked the steering wheel hard left.

"Hey, I'm the driver here!" Sherlock protested, slapping John's hands away from the wheel.

"You crossed the line!"

"What line?"

"The one in the middle of the bloody road that separates oncoming traffic!"

"You mean this isn't a two-lane, one-way road?"

"Oh, God." John groaned, burying his face in his pillow. "We drive on one side of the road, Sherlock. Lines prevent sudden and unwarranted death."

"I thought lines were just city things."

"Um, nyoooooo."

"Well, then. I've come to a very understandable conclusion."

"And what is that?"

"The rules of the road simply do not apply to me."

John pursed his lips.

The drive continued some time in silence. A silence that was shortly interrupted by John's head hitting the passenger window as Sherlock suddenly swerved the car to the left.

"Sherlock, what was that?"

"Just saw something."

John rubbed the side of his head. "What did you see that was worth almost crashing into a tree?"

"A squirrel."

John blinked. "A…squirrel."

Sherlock glanced behind him. "Yes. Nasty little bugger. Mocking me with his pretentious rodent ways."

"It's a squirrel, Sherlock."

"Just try and cross the road again, you bastard!" Sherlock shouted, shaking one gloved fist at the rearview mirror.

"You're actually yelling at a harmless woodland creature. You can't have road rage against nature."

"No, no. I have named him Moriarty. Excuse me while I turn around and go run him over."

"Seriously. What happens when something bigger comes al—OH MY GOD, OLD LADY!" John shrieked.

Sherlock started and veered the car in a serpentine line.

"You hit her!"

"Did not! I merely clipped her."

John threw up his hands. "Her cane is on the windshield!"

"Fine. Where are the controls for the windshield wipers?"

John buried his face in his hands. "No, Sherlock! Bad! Bad Sherlock!"

Sherlock glanced up at the rearview mirror and smirked. "Oh, look. She's trying to chase us."

"Eyes on the road, Sherlock!"


The car's brakes squealed before the sound of metal snapping wood filled the surrounding countryside.

John continued to stare forward, wide-eyed. "You drove through a fence. You drove through a damn fence."

Sherlock tapped the steering wheel and bit his lip. "An apt observation."

"Yes, it is. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Look, John. Cows."