Summary: Charisa never would have thought that spilling black coffee on his shirt would lead to a serial killer knocking on her door at 3 in the morning, determined to "kidnap the lover of Sherlock Holmes"... Sherlock who?

I glanced at the owl-shaped clock that was pinned against the salmon pink colored walls. 6:43pm.. there is only seventeen minutes left of my shift.. You can do this, Charisa. I let out a sigh. Usually, I'm not this irritable. How did I get roped into working overtime anyways?

..Oh that's right, stupid Meena had to leave early for a "dentist appointment" - we all knew that was a lie. Although, Meena would be getting some action in her mouth tonight; it would not be the kind that she had so innocently claimed.

From behind the counter I vaguely watched the customers in the café, hoping for some entertainment. There were about, what? Three customuers left? No one else would be stopping by, it was rare enough that we'd get more then seven tables at a time.

Taking a silver tray, I went to go clean up the mess the parting customers had left. Two dollar tip? I scowled. What stingy people today! Thanks for nothing, assholes. Cleaning up the table, I heard the familiar bell of a new customer approaching. Inwardly, I groaned. Oh, come on! We close in ten minutes, please do not make me work overtime!

"Welcome to The Gardens, may I escort you to your table?" I managed to recite through grinded teeth and a fake smile.

It was two men. They paid no attention to me, instead looking over my shoulder to see if there were any empty tables. The taller one brushed passed me, "Yes. We'll be taking this seat here by the window, thank you."

Usually it irritated me to the fullest when customers would simply waltz right in and seat themselves, and this time was no different. Instead of chewing him out, telling him the window seats were for reserved customers only, I decided to give the two of them a break and try to rid of them as quickly as possible.

Swallowing my anger, I folded my hands in front of me and helplessly followed after the two, menus in my hand.

Normally, you should try and engage with your customers, try and befriend them. Then hopefully you'd be able to sale more merchandise to them, something that my boss had taught me last week when I was first hired for this job. Despite that, I kept my mouth firmly shut in a tight line, seeing as the couple sat down, not even acknowledging me.

"We'll have two cups of coffee. Black."

"Is that all..?" I asked hesitantly. The taller one looked out the window, his eyes adjusted to the streets outside. When he didn't reply, his boyfriend (I'm totally assuming) sent me a reassuring smile.

"Yes, that'd be all."

"I'll be right on that."

Turning on my heel, I walked away seething. All of the other customers had respectfully made their way out, and these two baffoons decide to come six- no, TWO minutes before closing time JUST TO ORDER PLAIN BLACK COFFEE?

I slammed the door open to the kitchen.

"Are you sure he'll come, Sherlock?" John gazed at his friend, whom had been leering out the window for the passed ten minutes now. Sherlock grunted in reply.

"Have I ever been wrong?"

John, being the good friend that he is, decided not to mention that: yes, indeed his friend has been wrong. On many occassions.

"Yes, well I do believe I'll keep my mouth shut on that one," He muttered under his breath. If his companion had heard him, he chose not to acknowledge it.

"Watson, lend me your laptop."

John nodded his head, reaching into his laptop sling bag that he had brought along just for this special occasion. They had forgotten to pay the electricity bill (forgotten, more so Sherlock claiming he had not heard Watson tell him to do so) and so now they were taking refuge in the only cafe that was close enough in walking distance that had free wifi.

"Two coffee's."

The waitress approached with two overflowing cups of hot coffee on her silver tray. Grabbing one, she gently placed it in front of John. Sherlock eyed her as she did so, to which she sternly returned his gaze.

"What are you looking at.." She muttered irritably, not giving a care if he heard her or not. "Don't stare so bluntly.. it's rather rude."

Charisa had to admit, picking a fight with the customer was probably not the smartest thing she'd done. In fact, that was the exact reason she had been fired from her prior job; and the one before that as well. However, when her plain chocolate hues met the curly haired customers piercing blue ones, the brunette waitress couldn't help but feel at least a bit annoyed.

He glanced at her with a boring, disinterested look.

"In a rush?" Sherlock spoke as she grabbed hold of his white cup of coffee. "Perhaps you have a meeting to go to tonight? Secret organization? Judging from all of the piercings of your ear, the obnoxiously hostile attitude, and.." Sherlock let his fingers slip from the coffee cup, causing it to fall to the ground at an alarming rate.

Charisa, without hesitation, quickly caught the, now less full, cup of coffee. She winced as the hot water burned her wrist.

"What fast reflexes you have.. I'd assume that you're rather talented with a gun. Your palms are rough and blistered, as if you spend many hours a day holding a large blunt object in your hands. A gun? No, the bruising seemed to be more detailed between your thumb and index finger, much larger that a gun. Perhaps a sword? Now that is interesting."

Hot liquid began to burn his lap, and any assumptions that the consulting detective was going to point out next were replaced by a loud grunt as he bolted up from his seat, taking off the large coat he had on. Charisa's burning glare were soon replaced with instant regret as she realized what she had just done.

This was assault! Pouring boiling hot coffee on a customer had to be considered assault in the books.

Mentally, Charisa thanked the Gods that there was no one else in the cafe.

Sherlock began unbuttoning the white buttoned up shirt he had on, quickly flinging it to the ground, lifting his white wife beater up and down to try and cool off his, now red, tummy.

"Jesus- get me a cold cloth or something!" He commanded, handing her his shirt. "Wash the stain out first, that isn't a cheap shirt mind you!"

Before she could reply, Charisa grabbed hold of the white shirt, stumbling away from the two, speechless from her actions.

"Sherlock what was that about?!" John hissed as his friend calmly sat back on his stool, completely dropping his act of the "damsel in distress". If he had felt any pain from the hot coffee, he was choosing to ignore it now.

He finished typing on the computer. "Lets go. Now."

"What? What about your shirt?"

"Come on Watson!"

"Sherlock- I don't understand? What about the case?"

Sherlock let out a large groan, turning back on his heel to walk to John. Grabbing hold of the laptop screen, he angrily turned the computer around so that John could use the screen.

"Don't be daft John! This is all apart of the case!"

Sherlock turned to leave, and John grabbed onto the portable computer, his eyebrows raising at what he saw.

Name: Charisa Reynvard

Age: 27

Specialty: Swordsman

Wanted For: Theft, Arson.

A/N; Hi guys! Just want to say I have a very interesting mystery case for this story (I'm sure it would score at least an "eight" on Sherlocks Boring to Interesting scale), so hopefully ya'll will be interested in that.

Secondly, I have yet to decide if this will be a romance story or not. There will be a lot of flirting between Charisa and Sherlock (and when I say flirting, I mean Charisa constantly throwing suggestive comments to Sherlock and being tuned out by forementioned male) but I want to keep this story completely in character. Or at least as much in character as I can get it.

Read, and review. Favorite/Follow. Whatever it is you kids do now-a-days.