He sighed as he wiped crumbs and dried coffee stains off the sticky tables. Working at his aunt's café really hadn't been John Watson's idea of a perfect summer. Of course, he needed to earn some money before he went to university, but if someone had asked him what kind of job he wanted, working in a tiny café that was usually full of old people chatting away about their old-people-problems surely wouldn't have been his answer.
Then again, he was beginning to like the café more and more. It was really cozy, decorated like a bistro in France – his aunt had some weird obsession with Paris – and the walls were plastered with black-and-white photos and paintings of the Eiffel Tour and the Champs Élysées. Here and there a few postcards and souvenirs that his aunt had brought from her several travels to France.
Sometimes the work was boring and tedious, but he earned good money and the old ladies that stopped by the café frequently, while walking their dogs and meeting their friends for a coffee or just passing the time, tipped him most generously. He's only been working here for two weeks, but he already knew some of them by their name and his aunt's landlady, Mrs Hudson, was particularly fond of him.
In retrospect, he was glad that he had taken the job. John had been really excited when his mum had told him that he could stay at his aunt's in London for the summer. Under the condition that he helped out in the café. He had eventually agreed, because his mates would be playing football and going on trips and after his leg injury a few months ago, he wouldn't be able to play football any time soon and neither did he have enough money to go on trips with them. The alternative was staying at home, where his usually drunk sister Harry was making out with her girlfriend on the living room sofa while their mum was at work. So London it was.
John finished cleaning up and went to the back room, up the stairs to his aunt Lizzie's flat, where he stayed in the guest room. Well, it was more like his room at home now. Clothes and books were spread all over the place; it looked like after a minor explosion. He grinned at the thought of what his mum would say, she'd be screaming and shouting until he cleaned up and then, in the course of a few days it would look all cluttered again. Lizzie thankfully never made it up to his room, he truly loved that about living with her.
"Thanks for cleaning up, John", his aunt called from the living room. "Would you come here for a minute?"
"Sure…" he shouted back, tossing his shoes up the next flight of stairs, which lead to the upstairs bedroom. He'd pick them up later.
He walked into the living area and let himself fall on the sofa next to her. Lizzie was sitting there, reading some housewife magazine. Looking around the room, it became clear to him, that even if Lizzie saw his room, she would hardly mind the mess, as down here it looked pretty much alike. Paper scattered all over the tables, magazines and books piling up, but it seemed oddly in place, like it all belonged there. His gaze drifted back to Lizzie, who was still engrossed in some article about baking the best muffins of the millennium or whatever else they wrote about in those magazines.
"So, what's up?" he asked after a while. John was curious what this was about, because she never actually asked to talk to him, she normally just did and that made him feel both curious and a bit anxious.
She looked up and eyed him with a serious look.
"You know, John, it's not like I want you out of the house, but I'm a little worried, because you never go out… You've found some friends, haven't you? Why don't go do something with them? You're in London, go explore the city a bit, you know, have fun. Don't feel like you have to stay here with me and watch telly every day."
He knew she meant well, of course she did. And yeah, he had talked to some blokes, who lived down the street, but he was reluctant to go somewhere with them. His leg wasn't quite fine yet and he didn't want to be a pain. He had been out watching a film and just striding around the city, but at his own pace.
"Thanks, Lizzie, I might do that on the weekend", he said with a sincere smile, but knowing exactly that he probably wouldn't.
"Good. I don't want you to get lonely", she mused and turned back to her magazine.
"Yeah, right…" He got up and shuffled up the stairs and sat down on his bed. John picked up a book, but got bored of it after a while. He ended up staring out the window, wondering what to do with himself. He really didn't know.
Of course, he couldn't hide in here until it was time to go back home again. And dying of boredom wasn't an option either.
Down on the street, people were running around, on the way home from work or on the way to their respective evening activities. Lamps were lit in the flats on the opposite side of the street, people came home to have dinner and told their families about their day. Suddenly, with an idea in mind, he got up and took the binoculars he had found in a drawer a couple of days ago. With a grin, he took a look around.
I need to get a hobby, he thought, and spying on other people hardly counts as one.
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