John was set to meet with Sherlock the following day at a café near the scene of the first crime. It all seemed slightly rushed to John but he hardly had any say in the matter. Lestrade was eager to catch the depraved culprit.

As the cab pulled up a block away from the café, John spotted Sherlock standing outside, smoking. As John paid the driver, Sherlock finished the cigarette and made his way inside, not having spotted John.

Smoking again. It was an addiction John thought Sherlock had overcome years ago. Sure he had his lapses, but he was human. No one had been there recently to hide the cigarettes, to tell Sherlock that he was a better person for not giving into such temptations. The only man who did thought him dead.

John took a deep breath before walking into the shop. Not that it helped. His heart was still beating too fast, his hands betraying his nerves as he fidgeted with his wallet. He spotted Sherlock at a table at a table in the back and locked eyes.

Sherlock looked unsure as he began to smile one of his misplaced smiles when John turned away. He didn't want to see which smile it was. Was it the one Sherlock used on clients when he wanted them to feel at ease, a strained attempt at empathy? Or the smile he never meant to show, it came out when he was excited at some inappropriate thing like another suicide with a note or a well thought out deduction.

And yet still there was a third, one meant for John. It was private and rare and always caught them both off guard.

John walked over to the cashier and ordered a coffee, black with two sugars, still trying to kill time he didn't have before facing him. When he finally made his way over to the table, Sherlock's smile, whichever one it was, was gone. Replaced now by another, well-known look: cold indifference. John always did hate that look, but in this instance it helped him keep his emotions in check. This meeting was probably just another step in regaining normalcy to Sherlock.

"Hello," They both started at the same time followed by an uncomfortable silence.

Sherlock, always the straight-forward one, cleared his throat and was the first to continue.

"I realize, John, that this situation may be of some…discomfort to the both of us, however I am willing to put that aside -,"

"It's fine." John cut him short, then another pause.

"Right, well let's get started," Sherlock said as he began shuffling through the documents John knew he already memorized. John found himself smiling as he looked at Sherlock who was too busy pretending to concentrate the file in front of him.

'He is actually nervous,' John thought. This made him, what was that emotion he felt? Happy? Flustered? Hopeful? No, John had learned by now not to invest such emotions into Sherlock, it would only lead to disappointment.

"I thought I could talk to the victim's families and you can handle the crime scenes," John said.

Sherlock stared blankly at him for a moment before replying, "You mean separately?"

"Yes."

"No."

"No?"

"I need you there. Lestrade requested both of us to work on this. I could miss something at the scene.

"You, miss something?" John raised an eyebrow in mock confusion.

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, some detail having to do with sentiment or an irrational last minute decision made in the face of death."

John thought for a moment about arguing with the insistent man across from him. He didn't have the confidence that Sherlock seemed to have in their nearly forced partnership.

Sighing John said, "If you think that would be for the best, then fine."

Sherlock nodded, "I do."

Both men sat at the table looking anywhere but at each other until a waiter brought over John's coffee, "Actually, can I just get this to go?"

Sherlock's head turned quickly towards John. Ah, there it was, that look. The slightly-squinted-eyes-and-barely-there-frown look. Basically "what are you talking about?"

"I thought we should head out now," John said in response to the silent question.

John's coffee came and they left the shop, side by side, in silence.