"Order up!" says John Watson.
In the months after Sherlock's suicide, John had started working as a fry cook at McDonald's to cope with his grief.
"Damn, Burger Doctor! I've never seen anyone put a Big Mac together that fast!" says John's sassy cashier friend, Sheila.
John smiles. He had taken up the job at McDonald's because he felt the need to work in a field as far as possible from the work he did with the late consulting detective. He had never expected to enjoy his occupation at the fast food restaurant as much as he does.
"Hey Burger Doctor, I'm taking my break. Can you come work the cash register while I'm gone?" says Brutus, John's stocky coworker.
"But I've never worked the register!" whimpers John.
"Well now," says Brutus, "Is a good time to start."
"Boy, you ain't got a thing to work about!" Sheila quips. "You may not have a face for TV, but you're pretty enough to work the register."
John straightens his McDonald's custom visor and prepares for the task ahead of him.
The first few times were a bit hectic, but the Burger Doctor figures it out soon enough. By the tenth customer, John is a pro. He can take a debit card, swipe it like nobody's business, and hand it back faster than you can say "Reichenburger."
John doesn't usually pay much attention to the customers, until he hears a familiar voice.
"I'd like one large McChubble." Says a lanky figure.
There's something about this man's voice that sends shivers down John's spine.
John looks up. The customer's face is shielded by a McDonald's menu.
"Umm," John stammers, dazed. He snaps himself back into reality. "Okay, would you like chips with that?"
The stranger discards the menu with a flourish. John is appalled to see that the mysterious customer is none other than Sherlock Holmes.
"Yes," his deep baritone rings out, "I'd like chips with that, John."
FIN.
