Dr. John Watson was sat in a dusty all-night cafe, glumly stirring a tepid coffee. He was gazing out of the dirty window at the motionless scene. It was four AM, so he highly doubted that anyone was around.
He sighed and stopped stirring his coffee. He took a sip and gagged.
"Eugh, that's disgusting." he muttered.
The waitress behind the filthy counter cast him a dark look, then resuming counting the money in the till.
John took another sip and was surprised to find that it tasted worse. He put the cup down, and stood up, grasping his walking stick. Bidding the gloomy waitress a half-hearted farewell, he limped out of the door.
Good luck was granted to him then, and a taxi came around the corner. He whistled, and waved at it. He didn't think that taxis ran this late. He shrugged and walked over to the slowing taxi, and opened a door.
He was just about to climb inside when a tall, slender man wearing an old-fashioned, knee length navy-blue coat came running around the corner.
"Taxi!" he yelled.
He looked flushed, and his voice sounded urgent. But his face was amazing. John never really paid attention to faces, but his was just fascinating. He looked serious and cold, but yet loving and understanding at the same time. He had blue-green eyes, high cheekbones and a slightly pointed nose.
John was transfixed.
"Oi. You gettin' in mate?" the taxi driver grunted.
"Uh, yeah." John muttered, half-stepping into the taxi, whilst still staring at the man's magnificent face.
The tall man ran over to John, panting slightly.
"H-Hello. I really..." he paused for breath," I really need this taxi. It's... it's urgent."
His voice was deep and flat, but it was strangely comforting.
"I need to get home..." John protested.
"Ah, where do you live? Perhaps our homes are close." he replied.
"I don't actually have a home, at the moment. I'm just moving from B&B to B&B." he confessed.
"I'd happily take you into my flat, if you like. My landlady, is very kind, and there is a spare room upstairs." he offered.
"I don't know..."
"Please? I insist." he grinned.
"Oh, okay." John agreed.
Both of them clambered into the taxi, and John clasped his hands together.
"To 221b Baker St. if you please." the man told the taxi driver.
"Excuse me, but I didn't catch your name?"
"The name is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."
"I've never heard of a consulting detective before."
"That's because I'm the only one in the world!" he said proudly, "Now, what is your name, and was it Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"My name is Watson and I am a retired army doctor, and I was in Afghanistan." he answered, "How did you know..?"
"Consulting detective, my good man. I can assure you that I am good at what I do."