A/N: Hi all! This is BandNerd21 here, giving you a friendly author's note to start you on your journey in our first combined fic! (BlinkingAngel might also add an A/N if she hijacks my laptop...) So this fic took a lot of revisions, and BlinkingAngel started the backbone of this chapter, then I added stuff, then she added stuff, and we wound up making some awesome stuff!
BlinkingAngel here! Just adding my two cents: enjoy our stuff and more stuff and awesome stuff!
Also, a teensy weensy disclaimer: We. Do. Not. Own. Either of these shows. They both belong to the great god of television and mindf***ing Steven Moffat
Sherlock rolled his eyes. John had insisted that he "get out and about on his own like a grown man for once," and just about kicked him out of the flat. He was currently stuck sitting in Speedy's, which was as far "out and about" as he was willing to get. He stared out the window to the street, the dim morning light turning everything multiple shades of grey, observing anyone and everyone who walked past out of sheer boredom. That man was late for a meeting-he had met up with his lover the night before... Oh! Here she comes now, running in the opposite direction of him. Any idiot could tell that they had just seen each other. What an incredibly dull, mundane secret. Another woman quickly shuffled along the street; she was on an emergency cigarette run. A runner jogging along to his music, obviously training for a marathon. She's hoping to be early for her first day as a receptionist, judging by the new suit, too many papers, and frazzled yet desperately professional-looking gait.
The café was shockingly busy for 5 o'clock in the morning, all of about eight people were sitting at the counter or little booths. Every single person there had a story, and one that was far too easy to read. This woman didn't get much sleep, just getting over a broken heart. She probably spent the night watching something like Titanic going by the red puffiness of her eyes.
This man had decided to get up early, attempting to find a true blue-collar job instead of spending the rest of his days in a homeless shelter. The suit he owned was nice and kept in decent condition, but the knees and elbows were worn almost to tearing, but the man carried himself with confidence most homeless people weren't accustomed to. Former business man, then, probably lost his job due to budget cuts. The economy affected every class.
Everyone's so transparent, thought the detective just as his eye caught someone just slightly more interesting than the others. Male, early-to-mid-twenties, head down and hands shoved into his coat. He walked up to the counter raising his head for a moment to order before glancing back down. Obviously not out for work or to meet anyone. Not a smoker or avid drinker. He looked very downcast, as if he'd given up hope. Sherlock's eyes followed the man as he took a table pointedly far from the detective in the far corner of the diner. He looked up for a moment. Sherlock raised his eyebrows minutely; there was a glint in the man's eyes. He does something dangerous for a living, then. Not usually surrounded by strangers-he avoids the eyes of everyone here, including the waitress trying to flirt with him.
Mistrusting, Sherlock deduced. He's lost someone.
He continued to watch the strange man for a few moments longer. The man, finished with his tea-obviously black, the man liked things as plain as possible when it came to his food and drink-stood up and strode purposefully toward Sherlock. A small smirk danced across Sherlock's face; the man was more observant than most ordinary people. Then again, he hardly seemed normal.
"Oi, mate, if you want to stare at someone, you might want to try to make it less obvious."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and flicked his hand. "It hardly matters. What's done is done.
"Now," he looked up, "what's your story? I do love stories."
A/N: Ok, so... we has earned reviews? Por favooooooooooooor?
BAngel: S'il vous ?
*hands homemade virtual cookies out to all future reviewers*