Well, here it goes with a completely random Sherlock oneshot.

Yes, this is from the perspective of the Pin and Chips machine that Jawn had an argument with in the Blind Banker. Yes, I know that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Oh, well. It's better out here than in my head, I suppose. Please read it.

Tales of the Pin & Chips machine

I lead a rather monotonous existence overall. I mean, no travel, so little good conversation, a dull, meaningless job. What else is there to regret?

Occasionally, I got an interesting customer. Someone who was angry, or talking to themselves, or struck up random conversations with people. But no one had been quite like the customer that came in the other day.

The man was angry at me, I could tell. It's not MY fault if I can't recognize your bloody card, go yell at my manufacturer! He attempted to scan the item several times, and I tried to recognize it. I really quite honestly did. But it was to no avail. He eventually even started shouting abuse at me, but then he seemed to accept that his groceries were being uncooperative and left without them.

I did not see the man for a while. He seemed to be avoiding me every time he came into the store, which was at all hours of the day and night, every few days or so, always grabbing a few things here and there. Bachelors.

For an occasional break in my boring life of calculating the cost of people's groceries, I managed to read the tabloid newspapers across the way every once in a while. Then, one day, I saw him. The man who had shouted at me was on the newspaper, with another man in a strange looking hat. I tried to read the articles, but those papers are only good for the dramatic headlines anyway and I didn't want to strain my eyes.

Then, there came a time, longer than usual, where the angry man did not appear. The newspapers became more frequent, and another name surfaced. It was a rather strange name in my opinion, but it did really have a certain ring to it. Criminal mastermind, Jim Moriarty. The mystery man on trial, Jim Moriarty. Jim Moriarty: was the verdict right?

I was becoming slightly worried about the angry man. While he had been rather exceptionally rude to me, the people that they wrote about in those sorts of tabloid newspapers never seemed to have happy endings. For all he shouted, the angry man had, quite frankly, been rather adorable. For a human.

I mean, he wasn't NEARLY as cute as the cash register across the way, but that couldn't really be helped. He was only human, after all.

The next time the angry man wandered into the store, he was almost the opposite of angry. He was limping slightly, which I hadn't noticed before, and looked… defeated. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were slightly red, and he didn't seem to be paying attention to anything in particular. Which might explain how he ended up using me again. While he was scanning each of his grocery items through my sensor, a woman walked up behind him, one of those people who has a face you just want to slap, scowling and sour.

Her voice was shrill and grating. "Your friend was a fake and he DESERVED what happened to him, you little fag."

I expected the man to punch the lady in the face, but instead, he just looked resigned. She gave the most annoying, self-satisfied little *humph* I had ever heard, then turned and walked away.

The man sighed, looking utterly deflated. He looked so, so, sad in that moment, I just wanted to hug him, but the fact that I was a chip and pin machine and didn't actually have arms was a little bit discouraging. I wondered how many people had said things like that to him today. I wondered what had happened to the man in the funny hat.

"Sherlock, you bastard. I miss you."

He had whispered it so quietly I almost missed it. He continued on with his checkout, then quietly left.

He came in a few more times in the next weeks, always looking tired, always looking sad. Occasionally, people in the store would recognize him, and move away like he had some kind of infectious disease.

Oh, yeah, that's the guy whose friend was a fake. Oh, yeah, that's the guy who lived with that one detective who was on the news so much.

Their faces seemed to scream it, and the not-so-angry-anymore man was listening to their every word.

Then, one day, he was completing his checkout on me, as usual, when a different looking sort of person walked up. Her eyes were ridiculously large and a deep, luminous brown, which gave her the overall impression of a very sad doe.

"Are you…. Are you John Watson?" she asked him, quietly.

He looked up, surprised. Then something fell in his face, like he was expecting this petite woman to suddenly turn into a tiger and start spouting abuse again.

"Yes... I am," he answered, with resignment and expectation of the worst written all over his face.

"Oh," she breathed, looking even sadder and more doe-eyed, if that was possible. "Well. I just wanted to say… I'm sorry."

The man, who I guess I had better start calling John, looked up at her, wonderment and skepticism blooming on his face.

"Wait, sorry…. What?"

"I'm sorry. About your friend."

"You don't…. you don't think he was a fake, then."

"Well, does it matter? I mean, I read your blog, and it's a brilliant story whether it's true or not." There was a small, secret grin on her face when she said this, like she was sharing a little happy secret. "He was your friend, and he's gone, and you really do look rather tired, you know. So, I'm sorry."

I had never seen anyone look more flabbergasted in that moment than John. No, he was too adorable to just be a plain old John. Maybe…. Jawn. That's it. I'll call him Jawn.

"Ah, well, thanks. I guess."

"Mmm-Hmm," she replied, and then proceeded to grin and skip away like a satisfied little five year old.

There was a small smile on Jawn's face too, when he finished checking out.

Sometimes, my job isn't so bad. Sometimes, adorable little people walk by and I help them with their groceries. And sometimes, watching all the funny little humans dance around is the most beautiful thing in the world.

Woop. That was SO weird, and I had absolutely no idea how to end it. So, yeah. Review? Nah, it's not worth it. Just read it and marvel at how absurdly strange I am right now.