Author's note: I could not resist this slightly gratuitous not-quite -crossover scene. The previous meeting between Sherlock and the dark haired woman took place in my also not-quite-crossover story A Long Way Down.

Hope you enjoy the fun, anyway.

The Greek cafe was busy but John had a table in the window, overlooking the street of pubs, other cafes and restaurants, and the numerous graphic design studios found in this part of the city. The room was full of noisy chatter, and delicious cooking smells wafted out with every swing of the kitchen doors.

John's companion was a wiry man in his early forties with large hazel eyes and an expressive mouth, wearing a check shirt open over a T shirt with I am not lucky, I am good printed on it. He wore faded black jeans and was presently devouring a plate of grilled meats with his fingers, talking through mouthfuls about his time in London and glancing around ceaselessly as if cataloguing every movement in the room. Or waiting for his parole officer to find him.

John had found him pleasant, if tiring, company. He had not yet discovered his connection to Sherlock.

"Oh God. It's you."

Sherlock gave a sarcastic smile and dropped ungraciously into the free chair.

"Sherlock, this is - "

"I know who this is. What are you calling yourself today?"

"And it is delightful to see you too. John knows me as Clyde." Clyde rolled up his shirt sleeves, the better to delve into the food. John saw intricate tattoos on his muscled arms.

"And I know you as Idiot. John, this is the idiot."

"I know him as Loser, if that helps build the picture," added Clyde, helping himself to more lamb.

"Are you eating?" John asked Sherlock.

"Maybe later."

"Sherlock. You need to eat." John gave him a stare, aiming for stern medical but knowing that it would be interpreted by anyone present merely as fusspot.

Clyde smiled. "Ah, but John, that would detract from the wonderful feeling of superiority over bodily functions to which Loser is so attached."

John was unable to avoid a chuckle.

Clyde blew an air kiss at Sherlock."Give it up, live a little, have some chicken." He proffered a drumstick and Sherlock recoiled.

"Sherlock," said John warningly.

"Fine." Sherlock took a drumstick from the platter rather than from Clyde, and bit into it savagely.

"See," said Clyde, "Now you're getting it." He gave a nervous twitch and smirked at Sherlock, who glared back with a disgusted expression.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Sherlock.

"I received a letter in the mail. I assume it was meant for you. It's with my companion, who will be joining us shortly."

"How do you two know each other?" John asked. "Police work?"

There was a dark silence as the two other men looked at each other.

"Rehab," said Clyde.

"When I was getting clean," Sherlock said simultaneously.

"Oh." Another former addict.

"Also we used to tear up the town a little, didn't we?" Clyde's eyes glittered.

"No," said Sherlock.

"Mmn, yes, perhaps it was mainly me. Standing in a corner looking all mysterious and putting the girls off their Chardonnay was more your thing."

He turned to John. "Sometimes we help each other with cases. I give him a few pointers on the really tricky ones."

"Oh please," said Sherlock.

"I am a keen observer of the human condition," Clyde told John. "I believe you can deduce an enormous amount about a person's life and inclinations simply by observing them closely."

John glanced at Sherlock, who was rolling his eyes.

"Anyone can do it," Sherlock said. "It's very straightforward and not mysterious at all."

"True. For example, the woman standing on the street corner, there, sending a text message. What do you deduce about her?"

Clyde pointed. John and Sherlock looked out of the window. John saw a slim but curvaceous woman with sleek black hair and spike heels standing in the street texting. His eyes automatically travelled down her long legs and back up to to her face, which was in profile. Clyde's hungry gaze tracked his own.

"American," said Sherlock at once. "Designer clothes, but not new - used to have a better paid job than she does now. Large handbag, could be a fashion statement but it looks heavy - she's carrying round something ... maybe supplies for her children, though there's no wedding ring and her face does not show any of the sleep deprivation associated with parenthood. Her shoulders seem tense as she sends the text; whoever she's sending to is a cause for concern - again, not a child, perhaps someone she cares for as if for a child. Strong hands, precise movements in the phone - her job involves, or used to involve careful, important work with the hands. Surgeon," Sherlock concluded, "well paid, but gave it up to care for a relation or friend, someone adult but with serious enough problems to cause that frown."

"And what do you deduce about her, John?"

The woman turned towards them turned and John saw that she was very beautiful, with dark eyes and freckles across her fine cheekbones.

He looked at her face. "Beautiful and kind," he said.

"Bravo, John," said Clyde. "You were both pretty accurate as it turns out, but I prefer John's assessment." His phone beeped. He sent a reply with his thumb, and the woman opened the door of the Greek cafe and walked in, a study in unaffected grace.

John's eyes were wide.

Clyde grinned wickedly at him. "Yes, I know. Shame her job is to keep me on a leash." He mimed a noose around his neck. "Still, could be worse, eh?"

He turned to Sherlock. "How about you? Got a live in companion who makes you tea and wanders around the house in underwear providing pleasant distraction when you're trying to work?"

"Do not answer that," said John. Sherlock winked at him.

Clyde watched with calculating eyes.

She reached their table. "Hey," she said to Clyde, nodding at John.

"Hello," said John, but now she had eyes only for Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded at her.

"You know each other," said John.

"We met briefly," Sherlock said. All trace of petulance had disappeared. He rose and kissed her lightly on each cheek, taking her hand, holding her gaze.

"I'm glad you're here," she said in a low voice, and glancing at John gave him a smile of such sweetness and joy that John felt warm all over.

"Have you got the letter?" asked Clyde, somewhat brusquely.

She took an envelope from her bag and gave it to Sherlock. He put it in his jacket without looking at it.

She turned to Clyde with an expression of stern fondness. "We have to go. The boat won't wait."

"Indeed." Clyde stood, nodded at Sherlock and John. "Well, this has been, hasn't it. Good to meet you John, and I hope you lead him into very wicked ways indeed." John sighed.

"Bye now," said Sherlock with artificial cheer. He gave a little wave, waggling his fingers.

"Are you another brother?" John asked Clyde.

Both men laughed.

"Imagine," said Sherlock, shuddering.

"No," said Clyde.

He rose, and left, the woman smiling her goodbyes. As they walked out, John saw Clyde's hand snake round and take hers. She did not react, but her fingers curled round his.

"Idiot," said Sherlock. He glanced at John. "Home?"

"Yes."

All very well, John thought, but what was in the letter?