Tristan was out of breath and his side was hurting, but he continued running. His suitcase kept slamming into his leg every few steps, and now and again, a corner dug into his flesh, causing a sharp pain. And still he kept running. He had to catch that last train! 

He had arranged to spend the night at an old friend's place. He had not seen Tobias for ages, and being able to make that detour had been half the reason he had agreed to make the trip all the way to Whitby to interview some ruffian, who had clearly not been worth the time. After seeing the criminal, he had gone to do some shopping, eat a meal, and pick up his suitcase. There had been plenty of time before his train would depart. Alas, he had gone to the wrong station, and when he had realized that, and had headed to the main station, he had gotten lost, and now he was late. 

It was already dark as he ran along the largely deserted docks, the station coming into view ahead of him. The front of the building was lighted, and there was light coming from within. But the sight hardly comforted him, for he could see on the large clock on the front, that he only had a minute left.

He did not know where he managed to find the energy or oxygen, but he managed one last sprint, through the large open doors, through the station hall, and...

The suitcase bumped into his leg again with such force that the fasteners sprang open, and papers, clothes, and smaller personal items such as a flattened leather briefcase, a railway paperback version of A Study in Scarlet, two parcels wrapped in brown paper, and some money, scattered across the floor. Tristan cursed, stopped running, and stared at the mess. There was a high whistle coming from the platform and the noise of a steamtrain being set in motion. He wasn't going to cry.