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Sherlock stared out of the café’s slightly grimy window, purposely ignoring John, who was frowning at his coffee, obviously still annoyed about that morning.
Whatever Watson said, it hadn’t been Sherlock’s fault that his latest experiment had become slightly unstable and exploded into soot and some sort of oily substance, nor had it been his fault that John’s new girlfriend had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Both had been soaked and turned into black, wet, human shaped things, and the girlfriend had failed to find the funny side, storming out of 221b, screeching that she never wanted to see them again, as he had ruined her new Prada tote. Sherlock found it all pretty funny, but refrained from laughing when he realized just how furious John had looked.
Not knowing what to do, Sherlock had broken eye contact and calmly – even though he just wanted to sprint away – escaped to his bathroom to have a shower, leaving a fuming Watson in the kitchen. For some reason, when Sherlock emerged tentatively from his bedroom a short while later, John was where Sherlock had left him, but the mess was gone, along with the remains of the container it had been in initially. John was now leaning against the table, position loose and pensive, with a frown creasing his brow. This along worried Sherlock, but his face had remained neutral as he opened the fridge to see if his fingers were still inside. Before he could pull them out to start a new experiment, John had suggested they went to the coffee shop around the corner to continue the less urgent investigation they had started about the bout of food poisoning going around. Sherlock had tried not to frown at his tone, neutral with a hint of resignation and slight anger, as he felt a twinge in his chest, John had just seemed so… Tired.
That was how they had ended up there, sitting at a dingy little table in the slightly depressing cafè, John nursing a coffee which had obviously had done something to annoy him, giving the glare he was giving it, and Sherlock just alternating between staring out of the window and deducing the few other customers and staff, having giving up on the cup that sat in front of him after the first sip. Normally, he and John would have been chuckling as Sherlock told him everything about the people around them, but now Sherlock kept them to himself, feeling that John wasn’t in the mood.
Lovers, she’s cheating on her husband and he’s doesn’t actually feel anything for her. Dull. Next.
Recent psychological trauma from a minor car accident. Has a daughter that she gave up for adoption. Husband left her, no, husband died in car accident. Living with her parents. Job interview in about half an hour. Next.
He is working too hard. Money problems, because of gambling. Working overtime to support child. Wants to get another part time job. Child is six years old and left handed. Next.
A girl in the corner caught his eye, she sat cross-legged on the chair, pen in her hand and staring slightly absently at the ceiling as she chewed on the end of the pen. A long jumper much like John’s made a flicker of a smile appear on his face, until he caught a quick glimpse into her eyes and his brain started ticking off deductions. Just turned 18, is English and speaks fluent Italian. Student, probably at the college down the road. Parents divorced. One – no, two disabled siblings. Abusive sibling. Few friends. Minor ADHD. Not sure about sexuality – probably bi. Infatuated with that actor who did the British TV series – phone background. Experienced bullying for at least two years. Wants to study psychology, perhaps join the police force, but is going to join the military. Can’t figure out how to tell her parents – wrist movements confirm writing in a diary. Jumper sleeve slip – Scars. Countless, so repeated self-harm over a period of years – confirm abuse. Possible light drug use – definitely smoker from the way she holds her pen and packet shape in bag. Not even best friend or family have figured out her problems. Extremely lonely.
Sherlock started as she looked straight into his eyes, he hadn’t even realized he had been staring at her for so long. In those eyes he saw pain, fear, loneliness, but also hope and a dying glimmer of humour. In those deep blue eyes he saw a slight reflection of himself, all that time before he had met John. He felt a tearing need to reach out a hand and make sure John was still there, next to him, but held himself in check. Before he could look away, the girl turned back to her diary/notebook, an embarrassed blush flooding her cheeks. She looked mortified that he had caught her looking. Being such an open book, how could no one see her hurt?
Normally Sherlock would have just dismissed it and gone back to his life, but there was something in this girl, perhaps the fact that he saw a bit of himself in her, which made it impossible for him to just walk away. He thought about it for a minute, then turned back to his friend and cleared his throat quietly. John looked up, curious. Sherlock considered what to say, then got on with it.
“Girl in the corner, black-brown hair, beige sweater. Talk to her. Listen to her. Give her the number, for if she has any problems. Oh, and tell her to just tell her parents about the army. Help her, please.” John’s eyes widened at Sherlock’s please, and tilted his head in a silent question. Sherlock shook his head. John sighed, smiled, and then stood up, coffee in hand.
Sherlock watched him go in the corner of his eye. He watched as John gestured to the open seat in front of the girl and he eyes widened. She nodded uncertainly, closing her little book. John’s brow crinkled as he searched for the words. As soon as he started to talk, her eyes widened until they were as big as saucers. After not long her eyes were tearing and she was trying to talk whilst quietly trying not to sob, and John asked something, to which she nodded. He gently patted her on the shoulder as they conversed and she finally gave him a weak smile. John gently took her pad and scrawled their number, along with his cell onto it, obviously telling her to call if she ever needed help. She closed the booklet and clutched it in her hands nodding and wiping her eyes with a sleeve. He stood up, patted her once more on the shoulder, then walked over to the counter. A short chat with the cashier, and money changed hands, before John headed back over to Sherlock.
He slid into the chair with an understanding smile and nodded at Sherlock.
“You did a great thing Sherlock.” He said, as he quickly lay a hand on Sherlock’s with a sweet smile. Sherlock felt a blush spread over his ivory cheeks as a shy smile grew on his lips, his heart beating faster.
Over in the corner, a slice of strawberry shortcake and a steaming mug of tea were placed in front of the girl.