How did I even get a job here, she thought on her way to the coffee shop where she worked second week already. She didn't have any previous experiences, so she was over the moon when the manager told her she has it.

At least the nice morning cheered her up a bit, tucking her umbrella under her arm with a sense of satisfaction that it isn't going to rain. Her steps were swift, she didn't want to be late. She listened contentedly to the sound of streets having decided long ago that blasting music into her ears makes her unaware of the surroundings and slows her reactions. And she got bored with the songs too fast. Probably because she was too lazy to change them from time to time or to find any new.

The weather was nice, so they didn't have as much customers as usual. She noticed that most of the chairs in the room were empty, making her jealous that she now has to stand on her feet for few hours straight. Only few of the most regular customers devoted to this place were sipping their coffee and tea, reading quietly newspapers.

She stood behind the counter arranging muffins and cakes, stealing a glance at one chocolate in particular. It was her favourite one. Chocolate enough to satisfy the needs of a chocoholic but light and fresh enough to not to make you feel pregnant. Whatever you need in the right moment, the cake gives to you. It's heaven in mouth.

Bored out of her mind, having no customers to serve, she took her phone laying not far away from her next to jar of biscuits in her hands and checked the time even though the ticking of clock on the right wall loud enough to hear even in her place. She fiddled with everything that came under her hands, trying to make it look like she was working.

She turned around in her spot, her eyes catching her reflection in the pieces of shattered mirror. The owner believed that it served for artistic purposes only, though it wasn't true. You know those days that you feel like you don't want to have a face? This one was like that for her. She felt like a potato. Big bloated face with small pig-like eyes. Gosh. She wasn't going to say that the only thing that she likes about herself are her eyes. She read way too many stories to not to make it sound cringe-worthy.

In the middle of her pulling and tugging her face with her fingers, she did that when she was bored, someone cleared their throat behind her. She spun around, wide-eyed at who was standing there. Upon seeing him, she immediately got nervous.

He looked good.

And odd. Definitely an expensive suit, long dark coat, pale blue shirt that was tight across his torso, nearly the same colour as his eyes. Dark curls nearing black were falling in his forehead. She was pleasantly surprised that he didn't have a scowl or an expression of disgust on his face. He was smiling nicely, but the corner of his mouth were pulled too tightly, giving her an impression that he was just faking it.

"Hello. What would you like?" She asked hurriedly, hiding her phone behind the coffee machine, smoothing down my apron. She didn't want him to have an impression that she was just messing around.

"Have you seen a man here with around 5'6, light brown hair, brown eyes with purple sweater?"He asked, his eyes fully trained on my face, voice a bit rushed. His breath was slightly accelerated, his cheeks a bit pink. She widened my eyes a bit at his question.

His eyes trained on my face, he scowled, displeased at what he saw.

He added in a deep voice. "He is a regular customer. He comes here around this time." He leaned a bit forward, his body leaning over the counter, almost falling behind it. His pale blue eyes were still on her. She felt blush creeping up on her cheeks.

Barely a second later, he returned to standing and looked around. "Don't bother trying to recall him. You obviously don't know who he is." He said absentminded and his eyes sweeping the place, his expression changing in an instant after finding out he won't get the answer he searched for. He looked lost in thoughts, almost frozen in place.

A bell above the door rang and a scratchy voice said, "What are you doing here?" The curly-haired man turned around immediately, with a smirk on his face though his eyes were narrowed a bit .She turned around as well, curious.

The man who stood in the doorway with one hand on the knob fit perfectly the description provided earlier. Except I would have said that his sweater was more of a dark blue or dark plum colour, but not purple. He had an exasperated expression on his face.

She recognized him. He was a doctor and liked to visit this place from time to time. He didn't belong to the most regular customers around here, but then again. She was here just for two weeks, how could she know.

"Give it back, John." The man said in an authoritative voice, his back straightening.

John tilted his head a bit stepping a closer to the man, his brown eyes confused. "Give back what?"

"You know exactly what." He answered a bit irritated. Upon seeing John's face, he snapped at him. "The scarf!" He threw his hand in the air in a sign of being annoyed.

John had a look of realization on his face. That's when she noticed the blue scarf wrapped tightly around his throat. So this whole ordeal was about a scarf?

"I took it this morning because my throat is a bit sore." He explained. "And YOU destroyed all of mine in that recent stupid experiment of yours, Sherlock. Don't think I forgot that one." He said in accusatory tone, pointing a finger in man's face, John's the previous confused expression replaced by an irritated one.

The man looked taken back a bit at John's outburst. "It was not stupid. It was for a scientific purposes." He defended himself.

"Scientific purposes my arse." John bit back and put his hand on his hips, scoffing. "Now I have to wear a scarf for medical purposes."

"John, you are acting irrational." Sherlock said. "The experiment was based solely on science. Ask Molly." He offered with a wave of his hand, as is she were to pop out from the floor.

"Molly helped you?" John shook his head and laughed silently.

"Laugh all you want John. You will thank me next time someone will try to choke you with your scarf but they won't be able to thanks to a mathematically proved way of tying it." Sherlock announced. He looked smug with a smile on his face.

"No I won't if I do it first to you." John said, silently fuming.

He then turned to her. "He didn't cause a scene did he? If he did I'm sorry." He said, his tone a lot softer. She shook her head, smiling.

"It's fine. He didn't do anything." She said and John exhaled happily.

"Why do you think I have caused a scene?" Asked Sherlock offended, his eyebrows furrowed.

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Sherlock, I know you. You cause a scene every single time." He said running a hand across his face tiredly.

"I have to object. That opinion of yours is completely biased." He said, affronted, a shocked expression on his face. Why would he cause a scene?

"God, not again." John released a breath defeated. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but John held up his finger in a warning to stay quiet.

"Can I get my usual, please?" He asked her, the girl nodding and quickly setting to work. "And could you add some sugar this time? I feel like a need some today." After his comment, Sherlock frowned, his eyes focused on John's face and then on the girl on the counter. "So you do know him." He said.

"Yes." She said in a small voice.

"Unbelievable. Idiots." He grumbled to himself, his attention returning to the doctor. John was leaning against the counter with his hip, his arms crossed on his chest, his lips pursed.

After a short while, he said flatly: "I see no logical reason why you should be angry at me for 'ruining' those scarves." John rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

"Back to why I came here, give it back." Sherlock said, stretching his hand in front of himself, with a stoic face. The girl's and John's eyes met, sharing a quiet understanding.

"I have a 5 year old brother." She said with a quiet laugh.

"I have a 32 year old flat mate." He said and handed her money for the tea. She wrapped it in a brown bag and threw in some biscuits in wraps.

"Keep the change." John said to her, turning around with a bag in his hand. He stopped abruptly at seeing Sherlock's hand in front of him that was stopping him to go any further.

"I'm not going to repeat myself." Sherlock said, his cheeks no longer slightly pink, but pale colour just like the rest of his face. She was sure that he was lighter than white walls.

John huffed but with an amused expression on his face.. "And I'm not going to give it back to you." Sherlock widened his eyes a bit at John's. "Why do you need it so much anyway?" He asked, frowning.

"Because it's mi... I need it!" He exclaimed throwing his hands in the air.

"Hmm.." John mused. " I would have thought that you meant to say 'It's mine'." He coughed then, his hand free of hot tea went to his scarf covered throat.

"Sherlock, I am sick. You are not. Now deduce who needs it more." He arched an eyebrow at him, turned on his heel and headed to the door.

After not hearing any footsteps following him, he turned his head seeing Sherlock with a scowl on his face, looking angry.

John sighed, walked up to him, hand searching the paper bag for something. When he came to him, he said: " Here, have a dark blue biscuit. It's vanilla one, I think." John frowned at the wrap, trying to see if he was right..

"Have one and be a good boy. You can have the scarf after you'll get me a new one." He then proceeded to put the vanilla biscuit in Sherlock's breast pocket in his coat. He patted in a playful way, smiled at the girl, said his goodbye and walked out from the shop.

She could see him grabbing another biscuit from the bag, tearing in open and stuffing it into his mouth. Having not forgotten Sherlock's presence in the shop, she looked at him.

He had the biscuit in his hands, an expression of utter disgust on his face.

He then turned his eyes to see her watching. She was once again mesmerized by his sharp cheekbones, carved lips and pale eyes.

"It's royal blue." He spat out, throwing the biscuit on the counter. "And I don't even like vanilla." He said and marched to the door.

Having the luck not toppling the biscuit jar over and spilling it's content's all over the floor, she managed to snag biscuit in a flower shape covered in red wrap.

"Hey!" She called after him. Sherlock stopped few feet away from the door, his hand already reaching to grasp the door handle. He stopped and looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

She threw the biscuit in his direction and he caught it easily mid-air. He looked closer at the wrap, studying what it said.

"It's ginger one." She said. "And it's really good. Maybe you'll like it." She suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

Sherlock let a tiny smile flicker across his face. "I suppose I could like it." His voice was still ringing in her ears after his dark coat disappeared behind the corner.

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Hi!

:) It's my first Sherlock fanfiction. I keep trying to improve my writing, so I hope it is readable. I was wondering if I should make it just a one-shot or maybe write a few more. So if you are interested in reading more, let me know. If you like it or even if you don't, please leave a review.

Thank You for reading.

Klaudia

P.S.: How do you tie your scarf?

(The picture doesn't belong to me. The proud ownder of 'Cold John' is bluepen115.)