Meeting the contact here was surely a mistake – the place was too busy, city executives storming in and out every second in a chaotic tumble. Only a few lone people watchers colonised the tables at this hour, staring unabashed at their neighbours, searching out their stories, and their secrets. Hardly conducive for espionage. The game of shadows was best played off the stage; street corners and offices, all the places where no one truly looked. Not neon-lit coffee bar commuter traps.
Yet Mycroft had vouchsafed the place, and its staff - discretion was the watchword here at Speedy's apparently. More likely, at least one of the other customers in at such an ungodly hour belonged to the British Government as well. Few of the agents had face-to-face contact these days, the Internet lending perfect anonymity to the work. But this was the place designated for the drop, and sometimes a bad hand is all there is to work with.
Still, the place did come with some perks; most notably the heavenly creature currently working the coffee machine. Those hands, so nimble as they flew over foamers, buttons and tins, fingers strong yet full of grace. The thoughts conjured as one long finger mopped up a trail of spilt milk as it frothed its way down the side of the jug – positively indecent. And the guilty glance around the room before that same finger was raised to lips and sucked clean. Staying for the floorshow was maybe worth it alone? What is it… Sherl-
FOCUS. Hardly the time for gawping at gorgeous baristas, no matter how unconsciously sensual they are. This isn't some James Bond scenario, there are actual lives at stake here. And a flirtatious spy? Far too obvious, too clichéd.
Hmm. This must be the mark. Wearing that suit like the assumed skin it so obviously is, almost crawling off his back. Hasn't even washed the newsprint off his hands, clearly straight from the press. And yes? Yes. There's the limp Anthea mentioned, left ankle still sore from the blow sustained at the last meet. Winding his way through the throng of business men, brief pause at the desk for mere seconds, pretend gaze at the menu. Next, push your attention on the little woman – here comes the testosterone show….
"You listening or what?"
"Excuse me? I don't-"
"No need to play cute. I got what you want, love."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, right here. So lets quit playing and talk terms."
"Very well, Mr Smith. If that's how you want to play it, take a seat." Hmm, don't smile like that; you'll spoil the innocent act. Lets teach this idiot to regret underestimating Molly Hooper.
NOTES: I've got a rough story line mapped out for these two if people are interested? So much fun to write!