AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one is a bit shorter but I did that on purpose:) Be patient, the story will pick up fairly quickly! Thank you to all those who favorited this story, it's my first one so it means the world to me! :D By the wild, there's mild swearing in this chapter but only to really display emotions.

After getting my own authorized gun and holster and official New Scotland Yard police ID, I left the building with Sherlock and John. They insisted on buying me a cup of tea and get to know each other before we started working on our big case.

Actually, it was John who came up with the idea of getting me some tea. Sherlock wasn't too ecstatic about it; he groaned loudly when John made the suggestion.

So there we were, walking the streets of London to the teashop John knew of. My head swiveled as if I were at a tennis match, trying to catch every bit of London as I walked at John and Sherlock's quick pace.

The London air was chilly and breezy and I suddenly wished that I'd worn a jacket. Sherlock and John both had nice warm coats; I made a mental note to ask them where I could get a coat like theirs in this city.

In mid-swivel, my eyes found the teashop – a quaint, wooden shop next to some nice, white apartment buildings. We strode into the teashop and Sherlock successfully let the door slam in my face.

I muttered obscenities against him under my breath as I walked inside. The inside was as quaint as it was on the outside.

A dozen little tables were scattered about in an almost orderly yet unorganized fashion. Each table had a small glass vase with wilting daisies sitting in dirty water and the silverware was set carefully on red-and-white checkerboard tablecloths.

A scowl wormed its way on my face.

It was too cute and nice; I wanted my crowded Starbucks where the baristas knew my order by heart and I would exchange greeting-insults with the regulars at their regular tables as my coffee was being made. Again I shoved down some homesickness like a large pill.

The three of us settled down at a table and the waitress came over and laid down menus.

This is new, I thought, feeling slightly optimistic. Not too often I get to eat out.

Despite working for the police, I tried not to eat out much since I couldn't leave Rocky home alone too long and most restaurants in my city were either too expensive or too cheap to trust the food.

John and Sherlock picked up their menus and scanned them as if they did this every day. Well, they probably did.

After glancing between them awkwardly, I picked up a menu and scanned the choices.

Aw, you gotta be kidding me, I inwardly groaned. They don't have any hamburgers here? Any coffee, at least?

To my great inner joy, I found a suitable option at the very bottom of the menu: a café mocha for five British pounds.

I placed a hand on my pocket and felt my wallet; still had American dollars. I'd have to ask John to pay for me.

This is embarrassing.

"So, Nicole," John began, setting his menu down and folding his hands on the table. "Tell us about yourself."

I just stared at him. What is this, a damn interview?

"Um, what do you want to know?" I asked, shifting uneasily in my seat.

Why are British people so nosy?

"Well, what's it like in New York City?" he asked amicably.

I shrugged.

"Well, for me it's just home. But for tourists… it's crowded, the air is polluted, people tend to be on the meaner side at times, just 'cause we've got places to go and people to see, y'know? We don't have time to sit and chat or deal with idiots…" I trailed off, thinking about home. "But it's a pretty city. Got lots of skyscrapers, the Empire State Building and such. Broadway Avenue is quite a sight, I'm sure you've seen pictures. And the stores are awesome."

As I spoke, John gazed at me the entire time, listening attentively and nodding along with my descriptions. Meanwhile, Sherlock played with his silverware and glanced around the teashop, mouthing the word 'bored' repeatedly and occasionally whispering it.

"But enough about me," I said, feeling too talkative and Sherlock wasn't helping. "Tell me about you, I guess."

John smiled; I wasn't able to tell if it was fake or genuine. "Well, I spent three years in Afghanistan as an army doctor. Since then, I met this weirdo-," he gestured to Sherlock, who quickly looked up from his silverware, "—and we kind of became famous for solving cases…"

"Because you had to blog about each one," Sherlock muttered, examining his fork.

That sparked something in my memory. "Hey, I think I heard about that on BBC America. So you're a consulting detective or something?" I asked, pointing at Sherlock.

He glanced up, mild interest in his eyes at being recognized.

"The one and only," he murmured sarcastically.

I nodded. I assumed now was a reasonable opportunity to ask a question that'd been in the back of my mind.

"So, how did you know that stuff about my dog?"

Still examining his fork, Sherlock replied emotionlessly, "Simple deduction. The baggy under-eyes, dog hairs on your shirt, the age of your shirt, blah blah blah…" he sighed and leaned back. "God I'm bored!"

"We're just having tea, Sherlock, be patient," John chided, casting a warning glance at his friend.

I glanced between the two men. Friends?

"So are you two…" I began, waving a finger between them.

John scrutinized my finger for a moment and then it dawned on him.

"Oh God no, we're just good friends," he explained, "I'm happily married – to a woman."

I nodded in acknowledgment. Sherlock turned to me with a sudden sparked interest that unnerved me.

"What about you, Ms. Stryker?" he asked, his deep voice nearly cooing. "Have you a significant other?" He folded his hands on the table like John did.

Damn he's creepy.

"Nope, I'm fine on my own. Don't have time for relationship nonsense," I explained easily, but it came out colder than I'd intended. I was being honest; I'd been in a few relationships before and they were a total waste of time.

Thank the great Lord above, the waitress came over at that moment and asked for our orders. The two British men ordered tea, no surprise. And I, sticking true to my American-ness, ordered a steaming hot café mocha coffee.

I took a sip and tried to think of home. I hadn't imagined how tough the homesickness would hit me; I had estimated it'd sink in around the first or second week, let alone the first day.

Well, who knows, I mused, glancing up at the kind doctor and condescending consulting detective across from me. Maybe I'll end up liking it here.