The line-up at the coffee shop where John usually grabbed his lunch was outrageous, but he was too tired to care. The entire place was packed for lunch, though he realized the only reason this felt unusual was because he usually arrived earlier to beat the rush. He waited patiently in the queue with the exact change for his order ready in his hand. They knew him here. He wouldn't even have to order. When it was finally his turn; he exchanged the usual pleasant small talk with the waitress, paid for his order, and then stood at the end of the counter to wait for it to be prepared and handed to him.
"One grilled chicken panini and espresso coffee," one of the waters called over the counter and put the order up.
John reached up to take it.
"Oh, um, excuse me... I think that's mine," a soft voice said quietly. John turned around with the order in hand to see a beautiful young woman with large, pale-green eyes gazing at him beneath naturally long dark lashes.
"Oh, I'm sorry," John said a little flustered in his confusion and embarrassment and immediately handed the order over to her without another thought.
She smiled, revealing perfectly straight white teeth, "It's fine," she said kindly while accepting the offering. "Have a nice day," she added as she headed for a quiet table in the corner where her jacket and scarf were already draped over a chair.
"You too," John said a little too quietly and a little too late. He watched her find her seat. She was wearing brown heels, a knee-length brown skirt that showed off her flawless legs and dainty ankles, and a white blouse which was tucked into the tiny waistline. On the table sat a large document and John wondered if she was a lawyer, or perhaps an accountant?
John tore his gaze away long enough to grab his own order. He stood there for a moment contemplating lunch outside or back at the hospital – nether option sounded very appealing. He glanced around the crowded café and then back at the young woman sitting all by herself in the corner. Then, taking a deep breath for encouragement he approached her table.
She looked up at him when he neared the table and smiled. The smile gave John the courage he felt he had been about to lose, "Um, excuse me, would it be alright if I joined you? The café is packed..."
She glanced around. He took the moment to notice that she had put on glasses. They were delicate and slightly rectangular. They looked lovely on her, and gave her an aristocratic air.
"Unless you're expecting someone..." he offered her as a way out in case she wasn't interested. "I won't be long..." he suggested lightly as she hesitated.
"No, I'm not expecting anyone. Go ahead," she said gesturing to the chair opposite.
"Thank you." John gratefully took the seat and, after placing his order down on the small table, shrugged off his coat and lay his hat and gloves in his lap.
"It's cold out there today," she said as a conventional way to start conversation. She removed her glasses as if they embarrassed her and placed them down beside her plate.
"Freezing," John agreed with a shiver.
"You do work far from here?" she asked, "I've seen you come in here a couple of times."
"Oh, I just work down the street... at the hospital," he clarified, wondering how on earth he'd never noticed her here before. She was certainly worth noticing. She was beautiful... though perhaps a little too slender.
In the brief moment he'd had watched her take her seat, he hadn't missed the fact that she had a lovely statuesque figure and graceful movements. Something about her reminded him of someone, but he wasn't quite sure who. Her hair was so dark it could be mistaken for black. It had been professionally styled and layered; the thick, silky curls had tumbled down over her shoulders. He glanced at her slender wrists and delicate hands; long thin fingers were wrapped elegantly around a plain ball-point pen, she had begin fiddling with it – absently, sliding her fingertips up and down it's sides while the other hand held it steady. Her immaculate nails were covered in a layer of clear polish. She wasn't wearing a wedding or engagement ring but she was wearing a claddagh ring. John knew that it was an Irish tradition; when the heart pointed one way it meant you were free, if it was pointed the other it meant you were in a relationship – he wished he could remember which way was which. On her, too-slender, left wrist hung a thin gold chain.
She reached for her espresso then and raised it to her perfect pink lips. The movement caused John to realize that he had been staring. He felt warmth rise to his cheeks. Why hadn't she said anything? This was all Sherlock's fault. Three months ago he never would have been able to notice the details that were right now leaping out in front of his eyes. For example, the fact that she wasn't wearing any make-up (well, other than the light shade of pink lip-gloss and some discreet masquera) would have escaped him three months ago. He had to admit, he liked the look – it was refreshing...natural. He glanced away and then down at his sandwich, trying to turn the irritating analytical side of his brain off for a few minutes. Was this how Sherlock felt all the time?
He glanced back at her and smiled – feeling slightly awkward – she smiled in return, looking almost completely at ease. Yes, delicate was certainly the word, John concluded. Everything about her screamed fragile – except for her eyes. Those eyes were captivating and intense – focused... they depicted an inner confidence and secret knowledge. They were incredibly sexy.
From this first glance, she seemed to be everything John wasn't, and also WAY out of his league. There was one other thing concerned him... she seemed young... perhaps too young for him to be flirting with, he was nearing forty. He was suddenly keenly aware of his bulky appearance and of his age and was beginning to wish that he's sat somewhere else.
"So you're a doctor?" she asked.
"Yes, Dr. John Watson at your service," he said with a crooked grin and offered her his right hand.
She took it with another glowing smile, "Mia Rivers, Editor," she replied.
"Editor? That's very interesting. What do you edit?" John asked, genuinely interested.
"Novels mostly," she replied with a shrug.
"That must be interesting," he said for lack of a better adjective.
"I enjoy it," she said honestly, "most of the time anyway."
"How long have you been doing that for?" John asked subtly trying to find out her age.
"Five years... and yourself? How long have you been a doctor?"
"Well, I spent some time working overseas," he said, mentally doing the calculations afraid of how long it had actually been, "I was in the army for a time. I've only been working here for about three years."
"The army?"
Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows had raised in surprised, but he could tell that she was impressed. What was it about the army that made women so attracted to soldiers?
"Yes, I joined right out of high school. They put me through medical school and then I did a couple of tours in Afghanistan."
"That is amazing," she said not even trying to mask her awe.
"Not really. It's not what people think."
"What do people think it is?"
"I dunno," he said suddenly uncomfortable, "heroic, I guess."
She nodded in understanding.
"I write as well," she said then, effectively changing the subject, "Though it's more of a hobby than a profession."
"Oh? I write a blog, but it's not very interesting... what kinds of things do you write about?"
"I write novels, usually historical fiction... the past fascinates me. What is your blog about?"
"Well it's supposed to be about my life, but I write about my flatmate mostly," he said honestly.
"Why?"
"Because I find his life more interesting than mine, I guess."
"Really? More interesting than a military doctor?" she didn't seem convinced, "He must be exceptional."
"Well, yes, I guess he sort of is..."
She didn't respond to that, but something in her soft smile made him uncomfortable. It was almost as if she were looking at a puppy. Did she find him endearing? Endearing was NOT the look he wanted to be seeing at that moment... he had to fix this. Oh no, was it because he'd mentioned Sherlock? Did she also think he was gay?
"He's a detective," John added lamely.
"Wow, that is interesting," she conceded. "It seems a little old-fashioned, you rarely hear of private detectives anymore."
"So are you working on a novel right now?"
"Yes, actually, it deals quite a bit with the military. I find the terminology and research a little troubling though."
"Oh, well, if you have any questions I can try my best to help," he said kindly, though honestly he really wasn't interested in discussing the war. He'd relived too much of it lately.
"Well it's not really a happy topic for lunch conversation," she said kindly, "and I don't want to bother you with questions. Maybe some other time... you must be hungry."
John looked down at his sandwich. He was hungry. He also glanced at his watch – lunch would be over soon. He took a bite and she slipped on her glasses and went back to reading her manuscript for a few moments. John studied her some more. He didn't want to stare, though it was difficult not to, instead he would sneak a glance here and there as she read. Her hair fell down around her face as she bent her head to read and she would absently tuck it behind her ear before turning each page.
Time passed a little too quickly and neither of them broke the silence that lay between them.
"Well, thank you for letting me sit with you," John said after finishing the last bite of his sandwich. Since he no longer had an excuse to keep sitting there, he reached back to find his coat.
"Oh, no problem," she said – suddenly coming back to reality, "Anytime, honestly," she said with emotion though John couldn't quite figure out what it was.
"Thanks," John said while flashing her another smile. He'd stood up to adjust his coat and scarf.
"I know you come in here quite often," she said suddenly then. For the first time she seemed a bit awkward and uncertain. "I mean, I've noticed that you do... I do too." She added stumbling over her words and reminding him a little of Molly Hooper in the way she tried to correct the statement which may have seemed slightly stalkerish, "Would you..." she hesitated – she had never done anything like this before, "Would you like to join me here again tomorrow? I won't bring work..."
"Sure," John replied without hesitation, pleasantly surprised. He had assumed she wasn't interested. It seemed now that she was just shy. "I'd really like that actually," he added honestly.
She relaxed and that soft, heart-stopping smile returned, "Good, I'll see you then."
"Yah, see you then."
He offered a little wave as he passed outside of the café – and she returned it.
John left the café feeling a thousand times better. The cold didn't seem to bother him much at all and he certainly didn't feel tired anymore... hyper would perhaps have been a more accurate word for the way he was feeling. He replayed their short interaction as he walked back to the office. One thought in particular played over and over again in his mind: she was beautiful, and she wanted to see him again.