Pea Fritter
Hey! I haven't written anything for over a year because… College. Ugh. BUT I just started working at a Fish and Chip shop and all I can think about is how cute it would be to have an AU where John and Sherlock meet at a fish and chip shop because throwing chips and angry customers and Sherlock battering random things in the oil and experimenting on John's tea and helping him revise when it's quiet. So yeah.
Enjoy!
The bell above the door jingled as another customer entered the chip shop. John sighed as he stood from his place at the desk out the back and walked to his till in the front of the shop.
"Can I help?" He asked as he pressed his clerk number into the till.
"Two medium cod and a regular chips please." Yet another overworked businessman asked. At 7pm in the evening, this is prime time for tired workers to give in and order fish and chips for dinner.
John took his cash and then set about the practised motions of shovelling chips into the medium sized paper bag before spilling them out onto the greaseproof paper.
"Salt and vinegar?"
"Yes please."
John shook the salt on first and then the vinegar, as was his routine, before carefully folding the edges of the paper over to form a tight bundle of warm, greasy chips.
After wrapping up the fish and handing him a plastic bag over the counter, John spun on his heel and again collapsed into the old, creaking office chair out the back of the shop.
"Ah, John, this is the new boy I was talking about." John's boss, Mike, called his attention.
John looked up to see Mike gesturing to a skinny, sharp-cheekboned boy aged around 18.
"Hi, I'm Sherlock."
"I'm sorry?"
"I said my name is Sherlock, do you have a hearing impediment?" He snapped.
"Alright, sorry!" John said, holding his hands up in mock surrender, "Sherlock is just an unusual name. It's nice to meet you. I'm John." He walked over and stuck a hand out towards him.
"Pleasure." Sherlock said distastefully as he gripped his hand before quickly dropping it again.
The bell jingled before John had to make any more conversation with him, and he hurried out to serve the next customer.
How did that guy get a job? So rude. Mum would die of shock.
"Large chips, two small cod, a kids chicken nuggets and a pea fritter please." The woman ordered.
"Kids chicken nuggets, Mike!" John called over his shoulder as he totalled up the bill.
"That's £11.50."
"On it," Mike called as he walked through to the front, "Anything Sherlock could practise doing?"
Getting some manners, John muttered under his breath as he plucked the change out of the till. "Err…" John looked over the receipt, "pea fritter?"
"Sherlock, come in here and John'll show you the ropes." Mike called as he dropped the nuggets into one of the vats of boiling oil. It sizzled in response.
Sherlock shuffled through and stood awkwardly at John's elbow as he shovelled chips into the paper bag in his hand.
"Pick up a small piece of greaseproof from over there," John nodded his head, "and use the claw-thing to pick up a pea fritter, then put it on the paper." John said impatiently. How was he supposed to 'show someone the ropes' of a fish and chip shop?
Sherlock obediently picked up the pea fritter and promptly dropped it on the floor with a comical thud.
"Oops." He said meekly, shuffling back from the ball of batter and the green entrails spilling from it as he looked up at John nervously, "Should I, er, clean it up?"
Sherlock looked up at John so nervously that John couldn't help but grin at him. He turned to empty the chips into the paper and shook his head. "Just get another one out and we'll clean it up later." He chuckled.
"Don't laugh at me!" Sherlock exclaimed indignantly, "I didn't do it on purpose!" His gorgeous cheeks went a glorious red colour.
"Sorry!" John tried and failed to hide his grin.
Sherlock huffed and turned round to pluck another pea fritter from the cabinet.
"Salt and vinegar?" John asked the customer.
Sherlock wrapped the fritter into a reasonably tidy ball of paper and handed it to John, who gestured for him to put it on top of the heated cabinet. Then he strode out again to the back of the shop.
"Chicken nuggets!" Mike called as Sherlock walked passed.
John reached for the bag of nuggets and shoved them into a plastic bag, followed by Sherlock's second attempt at a pea fritter, and then passed them and the rest of the order to the customer.
John returned to the back to find Mike rifling through the clutter on the desk and Sherlock gone.
"Where's Sherlock?" John sighed as he went to fetch the dustpan and brush. He guessed he'd have to tidy up the rude bastard's mess, then.
"Putting his uniform on."
"You're hiring him?!"
"John. You were shit on your first day too. Be nice."
John sighed and walked back to clean up the mess of the pea fritter.
When he returned, Sherlock was stood beside Mike as he continued to look for something buried in the desk, more agitated than before.
"What… Is that?!"
"Not good?" Mike asked, frowning at Sherlock.
"A bit not good, yeah."
Sherlock stood, spindly as ever, in an XXXL work shirt, the only one spare. It swallowed him whole, and he shoved the 'short' sleeved garment up past his elbows. He scowled at John.
"That's all we've got for now," Mike huffed "Can you find him a hat please - I give up!"
John looked under the desk and found one in a plastic bag without much hassle, handing it to an indignant-looking Sherlock.
"I am not wearing that!" He exclaimed as he literally stepped away from the old, greasy baseball cap, John's arm still extended.
"It's the uniform, you have to!"
"I won't," The tall git sniffed.
With a smirk, John lunged forward and shoved the hat down onto his bouncy black curls.
Sherlock stared at him, outraged, as John giggled.
He had to admit it was a bit of a shame to suppress such gorgeous, shiny, ebony curls under such an ugly, sweaty hat.
Shut up brain, I cannot have a crush on such an impudent twat.
"Let me show you how to wrap." John beckoned.
"So is this your first job?" John asked as he leaned up against the counter.
"Yes. My brother Mycroft said I needed more of a 'work ethic'. I'm not slacking off school if I get straight As!" He exclaimed.
"Why does he think you're slacking off then?"
"My attendance is 35%."
"And the only reason you haven't been kicked out is because of your grades, I'm guessing?"
"It would seem so."
John hummed, watching Sherlock practise wrapping a Styrofoam box.
"Are you at university, too?" Sherlock asked.
"Yeah, I'm training to be a doctor."
"Really?" Sherlock turned and looked him up and down.
"Yes." John said defensively, standing up straighter, "why are you so surprised?"
Sherlock's piercing blue eyes roamed over John's form intensely for a few moments. Intimidating much? He straightened his posture, took a deep breath, and looked John in the eye.
"You come from a poor background, that much is obvious, and your family are not very hard-working. Your father is an unemployed alcoholic and your sibling is following in his footsteps. It's hard to imagine why you would break the cycle and make something of yourself."
John stared. "Who told you that?"
"Nobody."
"Then how-?"
"I observed it."
"Sorry?"
"Your clothes are of poor quality, suggesting your family doesn't have much to spare. I know your father is an alcoholic because it is obvious he doesn't work. But I can see from your neglected holes in your jeans that they aren't simply disabled; if they were they would make the effort to stitch them up. So, a lazy, uncaring father who doesn't have much money? Alcoholic. It was a guess but it is statistically more likely, given the estate you live on."
"Wait, you know where I live?!"
"Your trainers have both mud, grit and grass on them. The grit would be from the path that runs through the park up the road, and on the other side of that is a muddy tree tunnel which leads to the estate."
A few beats of silence filled the air amid the sizzles and pops of the oil vats.
"That… Was amazing."
"Sorry?"
"It was fantastic. Really amazing."
"That's not what people normally say."
"What do people normally say?"
"Piss off."
John giggled, surprised and still in shock from Sherlock's deductions.
"You're not as bad as you seem, either." John answered.
"Yes. Well." Sherlock replied stiffly to the compliment.
The doorbell jingled to admit another customer.
"Ready to take this one alone?" John asked.
Sherlock glared at him and turned to face the till.
"Can I help?"
Erm… Hope you enjoy it? I'm actually not really feeling this but I thought I may as well see if you like it. Meh. Like/Comment if you did!
Thanks for reading