Maggie stepped out of the tube station and travelled along the London street, looking down at her feet so she wouldn't have the worry of making eye contact with anyone. She was uncomfortable with eye contact. She trudged along, her hands shoved into her hand-me-down jacket, with patches on the shoulders and elbows. She twisted her fingers inside the pockets, shoving one through the hole in the left one before pulling it out again. She knew she shouldn't do it, but she couldn't help it.
She dodged person after person as she walked, being careful to avoid bumping or touching anyone. She shrunk further into her coat with each swerve of her movement. The coat was one of her last possessions, and she swore never to get rid of it. It wasn't only that she knew she would need it, but also, in a way, sentiment. She had a connection to the object, and was reluctant to give it up.
She moved through a small crowd of teenagers before spying out of the corner of her eye a small coffee shop. She turned and entered through the doorway as another person exited, sliding by without touching the tall man. He turned and looked at her as she passed, but she paid him no mind. She slowly went to the counter and pulled a few quid.
"What can I do for you, dearie?" the small girl behind the counter asked, looking at her.
Maggie didn't look up at her, just stared down at the glass panel before her.
"A small hot chocolate and a muffin please," she said quietly, setting down the money and pushing it forward. The girl nodded, writing down the order on a small notepad and taking the money.
"No problem," she said cheerily. "Oh, and your name?"
"Maggie," she answered.
"Alright, well it'll be just a moment."
Maggie nodded, still not looking up. "Thank you."
She moved away from the counter solemnly and sat in a lone booth in the corner of the small shop. She had just spent the last bit of money she had, and this was the first she'd eaten since breakfast the day before. After the fire last month, she had lost everything. The flat underneath her's in Winchester had caught flame, and she had barely escaped in time to see the building collapse. Everything she had was in the home except the few things she had in her car. She wasn't doing so well on money before the tragedy, and after selling her car and trying to find a new place to stay for two weeks, she was fired from her desk job. What little money she had soon ran out. She used the last that she had on a train ticket to London and the cocoa that arrived at her table.
As she sipped the beverage, she began to contemplate her next move. She knew she couldn't pay for a place to stay, so her only option was to find work and stay on the streets until she had saved up enough to pay the first few months in a flat. She expected better options here than her old town, but she wasn't completely sure where to go.
She was still thinking when she picked up her muffin to take a bite. A man entered the shop and spoke to the barista, and she nodded silently before going back to make his order. Maggie watched. The man had his back turned, so eye contact wasn't possible. He didn't move to go to another table, just stood there waiting. Which meant he wasn't staying to enjoy his coffee, because he had somewhere to be. His long black coat, much longer than was needed, suggested that he was a bit of a dramatist, as did the way he swept it up as he entered the shop. He stood very straight, his hands shoved in his pockets and looking about the different pastries in the counter. As she watched, he called on the barista and asked for one of the baked goods, slipping a hand out of his pocket and pointing at it as he did. She noticed his long fingers and wondered if he played any instruments. Most likely something like piano or violin. He tapped his fingers on the top of the counter as he waited. Anxiety? No, more likely impatience. He had somewhere to be, and he wanted to get there.
She was too caught up in her observations to notice that he had turned his head and was looking at her, just slightly, from the corner of his eyes.
Her gaze slid down to his shoes, polished, clean, yet at the same time worn. He must like them, she thought. She looked up and noticed that his hand had stilled. He was still impatient, but now had something that was distracting him from that specific problem. She was pondering over what could have done so when she looked back up to his face and realized what it was.
Eye contact.
Her head dipped down and she focused intently on finished her muffin and hot cocoa. She shouldn't have looked for so long. She knew she shouldn't have looked for so long. People notice when you look at them. Then they look at you.
Sipping her cocoa as she stared at the table in front of her, she noticed when the man took his order and left, passing by her. He swept up his coat as he left, and Maggie smirked.
Dramatist.
After the bell above the door ringed, signaling that he was gone, she looked up again and realized that he hadn't paid for his order. He hadn't taken out any money when he ordered in the first place, nor had he paid after the barista handed him the cup and pastry. The girl never said anything to him about it, either.
Maggie shrugged it off. Maybe he had some sort of tab or something. She shouldn't have even been concerned about it. She should be concerned about where she was staying tonight.
Finishing the muffin and the last of her hot chocolate, Maggie got up, gathering the wrapper and cup. She threw them away on her way out the door as the barista called a cheery, "Have a good afternoon!" after her. She didn't reply.
It had started raining since she entered the shop. Having no umbrella, she turned up the collar of her coat and moved along.
Staying on the street or in an alley wouldn't be a good option in this weather. She needed somewhere inside, where she could be warm. She continued walking as she had been earlier, head down. After turning a corner, she realized that she wasn't likely to find any place inside to stay. She couldn't go into a stranger's home, businesses would never let her stay, and she didn't know anyone in London. She had no place to go.
So, instead of holding out that hope, she began glancing into nearby alleyways, to see if one might offer some shelter from the rain. Maybe there was an awning over some back door or even a garbage dumpster that she could sleep near; it would at least block some of the water.
It took her four blocks to find something useable. Some sandwich shop that had a door in the back. There was a small but good area of coverage from the awning above it, and, after walking around to make sure the store was closed, she settled onto the step, curling her arms up underneath her head to form a small pillow. It wasn't the most comfortable, but she did have much of any other choice.
Maggie fell asleep surprisingly quickly, the last thought in her mind the hope that no one would find her, and that she would wake up before the shop's owner came to open up for the morning.
"Um, dear?" a voice said. "Dear?"
Maggie's eyes slowly opened and she looked around. She saw feet nearby, a woman's feet, and they were in orthopedic shoes. A pair of light brown trousers led up to a flowered blouse. Maggie knew from the woman's appearance, even while avoiding looking at her face, that she was elderly.
"Are you okay dear?" the woman said. "You gave me an awful fright when I came to open up."
Maggie's eyes widened in shock, and she stared down at the woman's feet as she sat up. She was caught. "I-uh, I'm fine. Thank you."
"What's your name?"
"M-maggie." she whispered. She was beginning to get uncomfortable. Talking for someone for a long period of time made her just as uncomfortable as looking someone in the eyes.
"Have a mad night or something?" the woman asked.
Maggie stood up and leaned back against the wall. Her stomach felt empty.
"U-uh…" Maggie stuttered. "I just… I'm sorry for falling asleep there. I'm okay."
"You sure dear? You're… swaying."
Maggie realized just how intense her hunger was, after all that muffin from the night before was all she had eaten that day, and now it was early morning. Then she saw that the world had been spinning before her, and she stumbled as she tried to stand up straighter. She saw the pavement rising to meet her and threw her hands out to catch herself.
Of course, no one caught her. She didn't expect anyone to, and why would she? The frail woman in front of her obviously couldn't - she would probably hurt herself in the process - and no one else was around.
Her palms skid against the rough ground before her, but luckily protected her face from any harm.
"Oh! Oh my," the woman said. She leaned down and grabbed ahold of Maggie's arm, pulling rather hard in an effort to get her off the ground. "Come on, dear. You can come into my flat for a few minutes. The shop can wait." The woman succeeded in hoisting Maggie up, and though she hated the physical contact, Maggie couldn't keep herself from leaning on the small woman, though she walked as much as she could manage. As she was taken along out of the alley and around to the front, Maggie caught a few glimpses of the woman's face. Some wrinkles, but not enough to suggest the woman was beyond the age of 60. Her hair was short, and though graying, still held onto the brown that the lightened color suggested it had been when she was younger. She had smile and laugh lines, and Maggie presumed she was an enjoyable person, with many friends… no, actually, a few friends, all of which she was happy with having.
She didn't look directly at the woman's eyes. Too dangerous.
The woman didn't even let go of Maggie as she pulled out a key and stuck it into the lock. Shouldering the door open and pulling Maggie along with her, she called something up the stairs.
"Sherlock! Oh, bugger," she muttered. "He should be here soon, at least."
Maggie didn't know why the woman was telling her this. After all, she had no idea who 'Sherlock' was, and she honestly didn't care. She didn't care about much at that moment, because her main focus was on not passing out.
The woman dragged Maggie along and sat her at a table in her kitchen before rummaging around. She didn't seem to know what she was looking for, since she didn't really know what was wrong with the young girl who seemed half-dead in her kitchen.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door outside. The elderly woman rushed to answer it, leaving Maggie behind. Once alone, Maggie slumped forward, laying her head on the table. She shouldn't have stayed outside the night before. Though she knew hunger was a large part of her condition right now, she also realized that it was likely she had gotten sick from sleeping in the damp and cold, and she felt as though she was going to vomit.
"Oh, Sherlock!" she heard the woman exclaim. "Come, I think you may be able to help me with… whatever this is…"
"What's going on, Mrs. Hudson?" a rather deep voice asked.
"Well… you should just come and see. You'll know what to do."
"...Alright then."
As he spoke these words, the body belonging to the deep voice stepped around the corner into the kitchen. Maggie looked up and saw worn and yet polished shoes, trousers that led up to a much longer than necessary dark coat, which he flipped up as he rounded the doorway. She didn't have to look up any further, yet she found herself compelled to. As she forced herself to look upon his face, she saw the same eyes from yesterday, in the coffee shop.
The Dramatist, or rather, Sherlock, was standing before her, and once again, they made eye contact before she looked quickly away.
A blonde man, much shorter than the dark haired one in front of him, stood on his tiptoes to look over the taller man's shoulder.
"Uh, sorry, what's going on?" Blonde said.