Well, I had the random idea of putting these two in a little diner in America, because I was bored, but then I started liking it! Hopefully it sticks and I can get the next chapter up soon! But this is me trying to explore Sherlock and John's personalities. A sort of "What would John and Sherlock do" sort of thing =)
For a Friday evening, it wasn't particularly busy for Emma. Actually, it was the slowest night shift in the history of nightshifts, and that was saying something. The only other person who had come in since six was an older man, who grumbled for everything he wanted. She was lucky to only miss one of his orders. His demeanor had made her too afraid to ask him to repeat himself. Now, two men walked in, and she was struggling to stick a pen behind her ear and spam the cancel button on an unfinished text. The time was nine fifty four, and they were a little over half an hour ready to close.
Emma walked from behind the counter, biting her lip as she looked at the duo. They had picked the furthest seat they possibly could from the kitchen, next to the large window. One man, who seemed older than the other, was staring out of it, while the other mumbled something low she couldn't hear. The one looking out the window turned his attention to her when she reached them, seeming much more eager to hear her speak than his partner.
"Ready to order, Sherlock?" he asked, with an accent that struck her by surprise. British, most definitely. What were they doing in America? In Atlanta, of all places. She decided not to touch on it, and pulled out her notepad as she pulled on the widest smile she could muster. It was getting late, and she'd had late shift every day this week so far, in addition to a few papers and tests she had to stay up extra for.
The man he had referred to as "Sherlock" looked up at Emma for the first time since she'd walked up to them, staring with an unreadable expression. He was attractive in an odd way, pale with piercing eyes. It was the eyes that got to her the most, because they were trained on her, darting about a bit her person before looking to the menu, seeming ready to yawn. A part of her felt like it should be insulted. Her smile got a bit wider to cover the feeling.
"I can take your drinks, and when I come back you can order, to give you a little more time?" she said, starting to turn, but the older man shook his head.
"Oh no, no he can decide after I'm done, I'm ready-"
"Please, we're in no rush" said Sherlock, still looking in the other direction; Emma had jumped when he's spoken. He hadn't even moved when he spoke.
"I'll have water… actually no, you no doubt take it from the tap…"
'Oh boy. One of those customers' she thought, wanting to laugh aloud at her luck, or lack thereof.
This was certainly going to be an interesting close to her evening.