Who: Sherlock Holmes + John Watson What: Meeting for tea When: Recently Where: Tea Shop Rating: G Status: Complete
As a rule, Sherlock avoided American cafes that referred to themselves as tea shops. It was even more cloying when they spelled it with two p’s and an e. Fancy tea seemed to be a fad in America, similar to cardio bar and raw food diets. Or Downton Abbey. Furthermore, he prefered coffee.
But he’d suggested meeting John Watson here because, after running into his redheaded girlfriend on the street, he was at least certain he could find the place. One thing he did not want to do was waste time. They had too many things to discuss. In fact, Sherlock had already taken a seat by the window and he had already ordered his drink, and he was currently rolling his eyes at the hipster server with the handlebar moustache making a big to-do of pouring the milk before the tea. Really, it was like watching an eight-year-old clamor for attention with song at a Christmas party.
John was a little early himself -- a few minutes before 4 pm had him in line for tea (earl grey), paid and tipped by four exactly. He was a little excited, a little nervous and a lot of other emotions that Sherlock probably would have thought pointless. But really, he couldn't help himself. Dreaming was one thing, but finding the person he shared those dreams with was something else completely.
Reminding himself that this Sherlock wasn't exactly his Sherlock didn't help much as he moved wit sit down across from the other man with an awkward wave. "Hello," he said, failing completely at remember that this wasn't his best friend, but instead, a man who hardly knew him at all and was probably doing that judgey-ornery thing that he did so often. "How are you, then?"
Sherlock had been focused so intently on the cafe employee that he was quite nearly started when John sat down; as started as Sherlock ever could be, anyway. He took a moment, his eyes moving swiftly but steadily across John's face, as he contemplated the very idea of friendship. Then, he picked up his tea.
“Putting my dream-skills to the test," he replied, nodding in the direction of the man working at the counter. It wasn't much of an answer to the question John had actually asked, but Sherlock never really knew how to answer that question; and most people failed to notice when he substituted the emotional "how" for the mechanical “what”.
That was fine: John hadn't really expected any response in terms of wellness or anything else that might have been considered small talk. Sherlock simply wasn't the type for it. Frankly, neither was Watson, not really. But he was mild mannered and trained in the art of it, and so put it to use despite his general disinterest. It was very British of him, really.
John rose his eyebrows up in silent questioning interest before twisting around in his seat to stare quite blatantly at the barista in question. "Well," he said, easily falling into the game -- easier than it should have been. "He obviously works in a coffee shop. Young, but not a teen. He's probably in college?" It was all pretty obvious stuff, but he wasn't the genius here, and John really just wanted to see Sherlock work his deduction magic.
“Recently expelled,” Sherlock replied dryly, and quickly, and a little like he was correcting John. Unfortunately, in his opinion, he could feel a smug smile ruining his attempt at complete stoicism. “Living with his mother.”
He paused to give John the opportunity to look appropriately impressed.
“When he delivered my tea, there was a distinct floral scent on his face. Women’s shaving lotion. Mother is divorced.”
John did, in fact, look suitably impressed. But not quite enough, not yet. He rose his tea to his lips, but did not drink, instead rose his eyebrows in some slight prompting for more. Well, not exactly more. Just a furthering of what was already put on the table. "How do you know he's been expelled? And what about floral shaving lotion makes a woman divorced?"
But then he paused, setting his coffee cup down in excitement. "Oh wait no! It's because he's using that gel at all, yeah? If his father was in the picture, there'd be different shaving cream!”
Sherlock gave John the tiniest nod to acknowledge that he was on the right track. Or at least on the same track as he, which as far as Sherlock was concerned was what really mattered here. “Man living with a girlfriend would own his own, don’t you think? Especially a man so focused on his whiskers.” Hipster nonsense. “No, this one’s down on his luck and living at home. Hasn’t had the time or money to buy his own.”
He looked downward into the center of his teacup, swirling its contents. At least hipster nonsense lended itself to preparing a drinkable beverage. Dammit, it was more fun to mock him.
“Expelled...because I heard him mention it to a coworker.” It wasn’t always so difficult.
No time or money to even buy his own shaving cream? That was a rough lot in life. Watson smiled behind his tea mug and rose his eyebrows almost teasingly. "With that kind of story, I hope you thought to tip him, Sherlock." Hipster nonsense or otherwise, no one should have to smell like their mum. That was just weird.
"But that was good. Brilliant, really." It wasn't that he was easily impressed, either. John simply liked how Sherlock operated, definitely liked working out the puzzles when given the little clues that his friend picked up on so easily.
Sherlock sighed. He was still staring down his cup of tea. A noticeable moment of silence passed, a break in the momentum, and he did not quite lift his eyes when he spoke again. “You and I… we do this often?”
“In the dreams,” John clarified, glancing from Sherlock down to his tea again, like he wasn’t exactly sure what he was meant to be paying attention to. “It’s sort of just … an everyday sort of thing, yeah.” Between actual thrilling cases and John’s real job, and temper tantrums brought on by boredom and a lack of nicotine -- well. It wasn’t like Sherlock had an off switch.
“No,” said Sherlock. “I mean…” There was a noticeable pause. Not one that lingered for effect, but one that called attention to itself by the accompanying change in his expression. His features cast longer shadows. “This. Get tea. Spend time together. As friends?”
Oh. That. Watson rose his eyebrows impossibly higher for a moment before flicking his gaze to the side thoughtfully, like he was unsure of what the right answer would be here. Sherlock's insular nature meant he didn't really reach out for friends, but he'd never seemed to mind Watson being there in the dreams. On the contrary, really.
"Yes?"
Sherlock silently knit his brows in reply. His emotions were so deeply buried that at times it was difficult to determine how he felt. At best he could say he felt...surprised? No. Exposed. Vulnerable.
“I take it by the upward swing in your tone that I am difficult to get along with in the dream world. From what I’ve seen, I’d agree. Fair warning, I’m difficult to get along with here, as well.” He was speaking quickly, as he often did when he was excited, agitated, or nervous. Again, whichever it was this time, Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure. Friendship wasn’t exactly a familiar feeling.
No, Sherlock wasn't easy to get along with in the dreams, and from the looks of things, he was more or less the same here. He'd definitely been short on patience for their first meeting. Still, John knew enough from the dreams to at least get it. And tolerate it. That's what best mates did, after all. And anyway, even if the other man was a bit difficult on occasions, John rarely felt personally slighted.
"Yes," he said, and it wasn't a question; just terribly fond. "That's okay. I'll be friends with you anyway." Since that was what Sherlock seemed to be so awkwardly offering, it was probably best to just put the man out of his misery and make things clear.
Hearing it that way didn’t make the idea any easier for Sherlock to process. John would be friends with him anyway? His eyes ticked back and forth as he went into deeper thought, thumbing through memories like they were pages in a book. It was clear his mind was racing behind those crystal clear eyes, only this time he was silent. Oddly silent. Even he himself wondering if he was being too quiet.
Sherlock swallowed and nodded. It seemed in the best interest of both of them to allow John to believe what he wanted. “Alright. Friends, then…. How is... your girlfriend?” The word fell clumsily out of his mouth. Friends talked about that sort of thing, yes?
That was -- well. John blinked, and then smiled a lopsided overly amused sort of smile. Sherlock could only be commended for attempting smalltalk like this when it was clear (at least in the dreams) that he probably couldn’t have truly made himself care even with effort. Still, Watson wasn’t going to openly point that out. There was no reason to belittle such an effort. “Amy Pond,” he said with a little nod. “She’s good. I think she quite liked the impression she got of you.” Then again, Pond was a sassmaster and was often amused by others.
Sherlock wasn’t certain he appreciated John’s smirk, but it was its familiarity that made him thoroughly uncomfortable. It brought on a sensation of deja vu so strong that it felt like he was dreaming while he was awake. It caused a shiver. He attempted to play it off by fidgeting with his cup and nodding at whatever John had said in reply, although he’d already lost track.
"Too much?" It was a little clear his last few sentences hadn't gone very far in terms of attention, and so Watson decided to do his new (and old, how very odd indeed!) friend a favor by stopping while they were both sort of ahead. "It can be a little overwhelming." John was a little harder to impress these days: his girlfriend traveled through time and space in a blue box.
And Sherlock knew a vampire girl and a goddess. Still, John Watson seemed like more of a fairytale creature than the both of them. "I don't get overwhelmed," he replied stubbornly. "My brain can build neural pathways at a rate so efficient that they did a study on me as a child."
He paused and looked out the window, brows knit. "...but yes, I'm overwhelmed."
Watson pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded sympathetically, as if he understood completely why that would be so. And really, it wouldn’t do either of them any good for him to poke fun about it, not really.
Still. “Those studies,” he said, tone bright. “Were they published or...?” The best way to get over being overwhelmed was to call less attention to it, right?
In Sherlock’s opinion, the best way to get over being overwhelmed was to reduce the amount of stimuli. He looked down into his empty cup and wondered if the caffeine was working against him. And it did feel a little like John was poking fun anyway. Lifting his eyes again, he shrugged. “I assume so.” And then, a little abruptly, Sherlock rose from his seat. “Let’s get out of here.”
It didn't even surprise John that he wasn't surprised at the abrupt change, he only stood, double checked that he didn't have a coat, and followed his new-old friend out of the coffee shop -- depositing his coffee mug in a bin on the way out.
For a moment there, it felt so much like the dream world that he had to stop and remind himself that there were no mysteries here to be solved. That this was, in fact, a different world. "Huh," he said, glancing up the street and resisting the urge to scratch the back of his head.
Sherlock had left his cup behind on the table. He had more important things to do. And even if he didn’t, it was the barista’s job. Cleaning up was generally for other people to worry about. But Sherlock had been struck with a new sense of purpose, as suddenly as lightning.
“I have been advising a detective with the Irvine PD . Harper. There’s information in my office at hospital.” His gait was swift, but he assumed John was keeping up. He didn’t exactly look over his shoulder to check. Nor had he technically asked him to come along in so many words. “I need a sounding board.”