-oOo-
John woke to the sound of his alarm clock blaring, accompanied by the sound of his mother banging on his door.
"John Hamish Watson. If you do not get out of bed this instant, I will ground you until you're 30!"
Knowing this would get him to scramble out of bed, she stormed away. John could just hear the smirk on her face. John hated his mother. But he had legitimate reason for it. She was overbearing, overprotective, and a major homophobic. Not that John was homosexual, but he had had a few friends who he had brought home in the past because of a project. When John's mother had found out, she was livid. She called the school and demanded her son be kept away from "those sinful disgusting children". So John had taken every chance he could to get out of the house and away from her. The only thing John could look forward to was going to the little café where he worked part-time. It wasn't very popular, but John thought it fit nicely in his little town. The town was very eclectic and quiet, the kind of town where everyone knew each other. The little café, Angelo's, was quite small. With its maroon walls and matching table cloths, it was very quaint. Many of the same people frequented it, so John knew pretty much everyone who came in.
John grumbled out of bed, squinting to see the little red numbers of the clock through the sunlight. 5:15. Great. John hated waking up early, but since Saturday was his favorite day to work at the café, he went through it. Pulling himself into the shower, he quickly washed himself, not caring to wash with the same diligence that he normally used with his appearance. Climbing out he was met by the frigid winter air that always seemed to accumulate outside of the shower. This day was just getting better and better. John thought with sarcasm as he dried himself off. He glanced in the mirror, wondering if he should shave. He decided against it, figuring he had no one to impress at the tiny café.
Pulling on his favorite jumper, the tan one which brought out his eyes, he took a moment to look at himself in his tall mirror. He wasn't bad looking. He knew that. Many of his past girlfriends had told him so. He also noticed the little-too-long glances he got from men and women when they gave him their order. With his sandy blonde hair, already muscular body, and bright energetic eyes, he understood it. But John would say he was rather normal. Ordinary. Bland. Maybe this was why John couldn't hold a relationship. Girls would be interested in his looks, then when they actually spoke to him they were immediately uninterested. It was a never ending cycle.
John slung his bag over his shoulder and checked for his keys. He didn't want to make his mom drive him again. Finding them, he rushed to the door. Trying to avoid any further conversation with his mother, but failing.
"Johnny boy. Are you really leaving without saying goodbye to your slaving mother?" John heard his mother yell as he reached for the knob.
"No of course not Irene." He said without turning around. "Goodbye."
Before she could reply, John shut the door. Smirking, he ran to his car. Not quite sure why he was so anxious to get to work. Maybe today would be looking up.
-oOo-
As John pulled into the tiny space reserved for him, he beamed. He loved the look of Angelo's. It was cool. It was sleek. It was John. John felt as if a little part of him was in this place. Even though he just worked as "the kid who makes the coffee", he felt important here.
Knowing the café wasn't open for another couple hours, John didn't bother to pull on his apron yet. He pushed open the door and walked inside. The café always smelled of cinnamon. He loved it.
Walking over to his station, he started cleaning up the counters. They weren't really dirty, but he just needed something to do. He heard the tell tale chime of the bell that hung on the door. He didn't even look up.
"We don't open for another hour. Sorry," He stated, because he had to do this often.
"Well then good thing I'm not eating for two anymore, or I'd be offended."
Johns head snapped up. He knew that voice.
Sarah.
But- she was on maternity leave and wasn't supposed to be back for another 3 months. His eyes widened as he took in his long time friend. She looked tired but happy. Her blonde hair thrown into a pony-tail messily, her clothes wrinkled. But her face was bright and beaming. John almost didn't see the baby in her arms.
"b-but...Why are you here?" John stuttered out astonished.
"What? A girl can't have a baby, then come see her best friend to show him off?" she said with a laugh. She always knew how to make John smile. They had tried to start a relationship a couple years into their friendship, but it didn't quite work out. John wasn't really attracted to her, and Sarah thought it was too strange. Sarah being 23 and John being 18, there was quite of an age difference between them, but neither seemed to care. They became the best of friends.
"Hamish."
John furrowed his brow. Hamish? That's my middle name. John tried to figure out what she could possibly mean. After some time, Sarah could obviously see he didn't understand.
"It's his name, my son. I named him after you, John," Sarah said, gauging John's reaction. She seemed as if she couldn't tell if he would be ecstatic or angry. He was neither. He was confused, and it took him a while to process this information.
"W-wait. You… you named him Hamish? After… After me? Oh my god Sarah. I'm… I'm touched. Really, truly," John jumped to kiss Hamish on the forehead, and then hug Sarah. He was truly happy. Nothing could ruin it. Except that stupid bell. John groaned involuntarily.
"Oh. Hey Sarah? Can we meet up for dinner later? You and Mike? We can go anywhere, but..." he gestured to the businesswoman who was waiting impatiently for John to finish his conversation. "I kind of have to get to work."
Sarah nodded, understanding. She had worked as a cashier here before she had gotten pregnant, and knew how hectic the mornings were. "Yes of course John. I'll text you with time and place?" She beamed. After John had nodded, she added an "I love you" before hurrying out the door. John smiled again. I love you too, he thought. He loved her. She was his best friend. His day had been getting better.
Going back to his station, he skillfully made each and every complicated coffee order the business people threw at him. He'd been doing this for quite sometime. He didn't have to even think anymore.
After the business rush was over, he slumped against the counter. Just because he didn't have to exercise his brain didn't mean his body didn't get a work out. His shoulder was sore from reaching up to all of those tall shelves. Hate being short. He thought with anger. It was true. John was only 5'7. So many of the girls he dated had to lean down to kiss him. As he ran through the number of times this had happened, he got lost in thought. He was so lost in thought, that he didn't hear the chime.
"Oi! John! Hello?" At first it was a small voice, but it grew louder with each word. Suddenly he snapped out of his trance. He looked up to see his friend- no, acquaintance- Sally Donovan. She was frequenting the café lately, needing coffee to get through forensic school. She was training to be a police officer. They had never been rude to each other, but their conversations had always been short and not very deep.
"Oh. Hey Sally." He said with a tight smile. He didn't know why, but Sally gave him this feeling that he didn't like. It felt like she had a perpetual sneer wiped on her face. A few minutes of meaningless chatter was rather boring. But then Sally said something that interested John.
"I hope he doesn't come in this morning."
John's head snapped up. He had no idea who she was talking about. "Who?" he was thoroughly confused.
Sally guffawed. "He was in here yesterday. Total freak. He was walking around like he owned the place. Thought he was some sort of god, and he wasn't even that cute. Like, at all. Then he opened his mouth. He talked like freaking Shakespeare. And he turned to me a pulled all of these lies out of his arse about me. He even said that Anderson and I were together. Freaking liar." She tried to make a sneer, but failed, showing John that the mystery arrogant so-called god wasn't lying. But the question was, how?
-oOo-
An hour later, after Sally was done ranting about the arrogant god, she finally left. John was tired. And it was only; he looked at the antique clock on the wall adjacent to him, 3:15. The day was rather boring, and the only thing John could look forward to was dinner with Sally and Mike, and how happy they are. Now, John was very happy for them. But sometimes, he was jealous of them and their happiness. Their love. John wanted that. But he knew that he was still young. He still had time. But he just wanted something. He felt as if there was a missing piece to his life.
He had to wait until his co-worker Anderson came to do the night shift, which started at six. This part of the day was always slow. So John sat back on the counter, ready to battle boredom.
-oOo-
When six o' clock rolled around, John just wanted to go. Anderson was not a nice person and he liked to act like he was above you. It grated on Johns nerves. So when Anderson walked in, John tried to make a hasty retreat. But Anderson wanted to talk. As always.
"Hey, has the freak come in yet?" Anderson mumbled over his coffee. John assumed he was talking about the arrogant-god Sally was ranting about earlier. He wanted to see this famous man.
"No, not that I know of," John stated with obvious signs that he wanted to go. Anderson scoffed. "You're lucky. Today's usually the day he comes in. I swear I he makes one more remark to me, I'll-"
"You'll what Anderson? Please come up with an educated response this time. I've heard them all. No, you know what? Just don't speak at all. You'll lower the IQ of the entire street."
John jumped. He hadn't even heard the chime. He'd never heard that voice before. He turned to see the speaker.
What he saw was a lot more than he had bargained for.
The man- no wait, god- that was standing before him was brilliant. Everything about him just, perfect. He wasn't looking at John, but John could feel the intensity of his steel gray glare on Anderson. His ebony curls bounced as he shook his head. His height made him seen a lot more intimidating than John could ever hope to be. A smirk found its way onto his cupid-bow mouth, and his sharp cheekbones looking even sharper- if that's possible-as a result.
Not even gratifying Anderson with any continuations of his insults; he finally looked at John, as if he hadn't even noticed him. John felt as if his eyes were stripping away all of the barriers John had spent year building up, revealing all of his secrets.
Very intimate for a man he'd met two minutes ago.
John almost fainted. His heart skipped a couple beats and he felt a slow flush crawl to his cheeks as he felt the mans eyes looking him over. What is going on? John looked down to hide his face from the man. The man was deadly silent as he continued to rake his eyes over John. If it was anyone else, John would have thought they were checking him out. But with this man, he felt it as something very different. It's just a man. Stop acting as if you really care what he thinks. But the problem was John did care what he thought of him. A man he'd met three minutes ago, and already wanted him to think nice of him. When John finally got the courage to look in his silver eyes, and he thought he saw a split second of shock in his eyes as if to say "well hello there", but it was gone as soon as it was there.
"Uh… h-hello. I'm John." John finally managed to croak out, his voice cracking at the end. What was happening to him? John was not gay. That couldn't be possible. All o the women he had dated, not possible. But the why was this man making his palms go sweaty, and butterflies flutter in his stomach?
"Hello," the man said, looking not too interested anymore. "Well Anderson. If your tiny little empty brain could put together my coffee without screwing it up, I'll leave." He said with another icy glare in Anderson's direction. He turned with a flourish of his long coat, obviously one for dramatics, and faced John. He gave John a glance then turned to sit down at the counter, obviously lost in his thoughts. John wondered what he was thinking.
"Freak. I'm not serving you anything," Anderson said with a triumphant smirk. He turned and went through the door labeled 'Employees only'. After a beat of silence, John hopped over the counter and looked expectantly at the man. If Anderson wouldn't do it, he would. The man smirked, running his hand through his hair, obviously thinking.
"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."
John froze. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock. Sherlock. He couldn't stop thinking the name over and over. Sherlock Holmes. It was a strange name; John had never heard it before. Sherlock. Sherlock. But it fit. Holmes. It fit this befuddling man.
Sherlock smirked knowingly. "If you're quite finished reciting my name, wouldn't you need my order?"
John felt a slow flush creep up to his cheeks. He froze, turned away from Sherlock. How could he possibly know that?
"It's fairly easy, if you know how to look." Sherlock stated with an almost audible smile. John had met this man five minutes ago and he was already eating out of the palm of his hand.
John didn't turn around, even though Sherlock already knew about the redness in his face. "Yes…Well… Ahem. What would you like, then?" John asked, finally turning around, able to control himself.
John saw a flash of surprise, but again it was gone. John didn't understand why, but it aggravated him. He would have to learn how to do that. Sherlock listed off a long and complicated order of coffee. John didn't skip a beat. In no more than a minute, John had the order almost finished. There was one more ingredient, the cinnamon, but to John's dismay, it was on the top shelf. The one shelf John couldn't reach. John was standing in front of the shelf, looking up, and thinking of what to do when he felt warmth against his back.
Frightened and confused, John tried to turn around. He was met with a very tall and very close Sherlock Holmes. Did he not know what personal space was? The nearness of Sherlock made John flush a brilliant pink. Thank god Sherlock wasn't looking at him; he was looking at the cinnamon on the top shelf. With ease, he reached up and grabbed it. Finally looking at John, he paused, reading everything on John's face. With confusion clouding his features, he handed the cinnamon to John, hopped over the counter, and hastily walked out of the door.
He didn't even take his coffee with him.
The two men walked with the same thought replaying in their head.
What just happened?
-oOo-
