"John, I need a case." Sherlock ordered, storming into the room.
John looked up from his newspaper at Sherlock and calmly replied, "Well why don't I go call up my favourite criminal and request him to cook up a nice murder for your entertainment?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, sensing the sarcasm in John's words, and stormed around the room like an overactive child.
John put his paper down and stared at Sherlock around the room for a few seconds before he gave in and asked, "Would you like to for breakfast at the café?"
"What's the use of eating? Eating is boring. There is nothing to eat for." Sherlock's words came out in a hurry, as they always did when he was agitated.
"Maybe we'll bump into a nice murder on the way there." John replied.
"Oh! What are the odds?"
"More than staying in this room all day."
Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "True." He conceded.
Five minutes later they were on the street, walking to a café.
"Which café is it that we're going to, John?" Sherlock asked.
"I'm not telling you." John said, smiling as he continued to walk at his leisurely pace.
"And why not?"
"Because, Sherlock, if I do tell you, you'll walk there so quickly and I'll have to run to catch up."
"So it's someplace I know of then? That narrows it down." Sherlock looked ahead and quickly eliminated the cafés that the route they were on wouldn't take them to, the cafés that had opened up very recently and the cafés that they've passed. Smiling with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, Sherlock told John, "I'm taking a shortcut. I'll meet you there."
John turned and watched Sherlock disappear into the crowd, away from him, and John heaved a sigh. Shaking his head, John quickened his pace to try to reach Sherlock's.
By the time John had got there, however, Sherlock was already seated down. "You took your time." Sherlock remarked.
"Oh, how I wanted to."
John looked around for a waiter to order. "Don't bother, John, I've already taken the liberty of ordering for you."
"You order my breakfast for me?" John asked, incredulously.
"I got bored. Furthermore you're ever so predictable. Coffee, no sugar, and the most commonplace of sandwiches."
John found himself at a loss of words.
"Your food, sir" the waitress said as she placed the plates and cups on the table.
"Hungry?" John asked as he noticed the toast and tea on Sherlock's side of the table.
"I am human, John."
"Sorry, sometimes I forget." John teased.
Sherlock looked up to see if he was joking, then ignored him and starting eating when he saw that he was.
At that moment, a pair walked through the door, speaking about Victorian London as if it were only yesterday. The man dressed as if he had never read a fashion magazine in his life and the woman dressed as if she'd forgotten that it was no longer autumn.
Sherlock usually knew a fair bit about a person after looking at them but this time he couldn't make heads or tails of the pair.
"You've been staring at the couple for a while, Sherlock." John informed.
After Sherlock didn't reply for a bit, John continued, "Why?"
"Because I don't understand." Sherlock said, slower than he'd said anything else that day.
"What do you mean?" inquired John, but Sherlock was already heading towards the pair, leaving his almost untouched food behind.
"Hello! So very nice to meet you, I'm the Doctor and this is Clara." The Doctor introduced himself as he noticed a man nearing.
"Yes, well, I'm Sherlock Holmes. Where are you from?"
"Sherlock?" Clara asked in disbelief, "As in the Sherlock Holmes? Consulting detective Sherlock Holmes?"
He normally knew people much better after a bit of conversation with them but since he started talking to them, he'd only grown more confused.
"Clara! Manners please." The Doctor chided, and then in a softer tone said, "Although it really isn't every day we get to meet Sherlock Holmes…"
"Where are you from?" Sherlock repeated, hoping to get some information about them. Sherlock also realised that he'd never been one to ask that question much before, yet in one morning in a café he's asked it twice already. He hence made a mental note to listen to John more.
"I'm from London and he's from.. far away." Clara offered.
"Clara, we ARE in London" informed the Doctor in whispers.
"Oh it's changed so much, but then again I haven't seen much of it." Replied Clara just as softly.
Sherlock heard them, of course, and wondered if Clara had been in a coma, and if the Doctor was her doctor. It seemed unlikely, but if unlikely was personified, Clara and the Doctor would be the definition.
