Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, nor any of the characters from that TV series or books mentioned.
At the crime scene, Sherlock couldn't think straight. The clues weren't presenting themselves like they normally did, and he grew frustrated. Growling, he whirled on Lestrade. "Tell me everything you've found out about this robbery stretch."
Greg shrugged. "I basically did. Six victims, all rich, all within a radius of Regent's Park. All had jewelry stolen among other valuable things. Mostly rings. You seen anything in the crime scene?"
Sherlock grumbled and turned back to the scene. It was a bedroom, containing a very nice king sized bed, a few dressers, and two jewelry boxes. If he had to chose a place to rob, Sherlock would have picked this one as well. Even the outside of the apartment complex screamed rich. A sapphire necklace and a pair of gold earrings were stolen from beside the jewelry boxes but not touched anything in the jewelry box.
"It would be easier if I could see the items in question, but they are obviously not here." Sherlock said, a little irritated that he couldn't find any traces.
"We've got these pictures of her wearing them, but unfortunately, Sherlock, until you find the thief, we won't have the items in question." Greg handed him the photographs in question. Sherlock turned to examine them, but still couldn't see anything to pick out.
"I'm going to take these back to Baker St." He wandered out, ignoring Greg's protests about them being police property, and returned to 221 B, distraught about his lack of deductions. Sighing, he decided to call John. That could be the reason he couldn't think quite right; there was unfinished business between him and John.
The phone rang four times before John picked up. "What?" He answered with, his tone hard and unforgiving.
"John. I, uh, I wanted to apologize." Sherlock stammered, shifting his feet. He'd never apologized to someone before, or at least not made an apology he meant. "Will you meet me at Speedy's so we can talk?" John was silent on the other end, and Sherlock's heart dropped.
"Okay," came the reply several minutes later. "I'll meet you there. When? I get off work in an hour, how about then?" Sherlock sighed in relief.
"Yeah, that'll work great. I'll see you then, Dr. Watson." Sherlock hung up his phone. Now he just had to occupy himself for an hour. That wasn't too hard usually, but this time, the seconds seemed to tick by, each one slower and louder than the last. After five minutes, he leapt to his feet and paced. Ten more minutes past and Sherlock groaned. He couldn't wait another 45 minutes.
Picking up his violin, Sherlock began to play, hoping the time would go faster. It did not work. When the time finally came, Sherlock threw on his coat and scarf and nearly sprinted down to Speedy's. He arrived before John, which made sense, as John had just gotten off of work. Taking a seat at one of the café tables, he ordered two coffees and twiddled his thumbs.
John entered, looking tired, still wearing his lab coat. He shuffled over to Sherlock's table and slid into the seat. "Rough day?" Sherlock asked, sliding a coffee over to him.
He laughed and took a swig of the coffee. "You could say that." He glanced down at his attire. "Shit, I forgot to leave this at the office." John ran his hand through his hair, looking more tired and old than Sherlock had ever seen him. "Between the day and our little scuffle at lunch, I'm nearly dead on my feet, so please do not make me tackle you again because I might pass out on top of you."
Though Sherlock laughed, he felt a pang of sorrow shoot through his chest. "John, I shouldn't have said those things, I'm sorry. You deal with things just fine and it was cruel of me to bring up something that you had just confided in me." John waved him off with a hand.
"Sherlock, you do stupid shit sometimes, and this doesn't mean I'm not angry. I'm exhausted, and I don't have the energy to argue. Just because I moved out doesn't mean I don't still want to be your friend. I do. I just don't want to watch you destroy your life with that drug while I am in the room over." He sighed. "I can't do that anymore, that's why I left."
Just then, the bell on top the door to Speedy's jingled as a wealthy looking customer walked in. She ordered at the counter and then turned to sit outside. "So sorry John, this'll only take a moment." Sherlock sprang from the table and strode over to the rich lady. She looked slightly perturbed as he blocked her way to the door.
"What do you want?" She asked. There weren't many well-to-do customers who frequented Speedy's, which is why this one had drawn his attention.
"Do you come here often?" Sherlock asked, trying to gauge what she might be doing here.
The woman gasped, offended. "Are you trying to chat me up?"
John groaned from where he was seated and rushed over to help Sherlock out of this sticky situation. "No, I promise you, he's really not. He is probably actually trying to find out if you come to Speedy's a lot." He stuck out his hand to shake. "I'm John Watson, and this is the Sherlock Holmes."
She looked relieved and shook his hand. "Hello John, I'm Eva. It's an honor to meet the great detective, but I have to say, I don't understand why you're asking me questions. Is there an investigation?"
"Are you aware of the thefts going on around Regent Park?" Sherlock asked. "The details are rather secret, but a lot of well-to-do people around this area have been robbed, so I was wondering if Speedy's was a clue. Do you come here often and why are you here now?"
Eva shrugged. "They make a brilliant Chicken Escalope Pizzaiola. Just can't beat it anywhere else. Besides, when this place was struggling a few years ago, I helped back on their feet with some help from others in the neighborhood."
"Who are the others? I have to ask you to please be very specific." Sherlock asked, placing his fingers on his own temples.
She thought for a moment. "Around seven others from my book club. Jen Hasterlo, Michael Shade, Steven Wallace, Diana Mason, Isabel Douglas, James Collins, and Justice Reilly, I believe."
Sherlock cross-referenced those names with the list of people who had been robbed. "And what happened to Isabel? Is she still a member of your little book club?"
Eva looked confused. "No, she dropped out a while back. Not sure what happened after that. I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, but I don't see what this has to do with Speedy's."
Sherlock groaned. "Of course you don't, you always see, but never observe! Isabel couldn't afford to stay in your neighborhood because it was getting too expensive, so she dropped out of your book club. She must have asked her friends for money, but you refused because you thought she was just being greedy." Eva's eyes grew wide, shocked. "So she had to move and grew angrier over time. So, now she is getting revenge by stealing from each one of you. Miss Eva, I'd lock your doors tonight if I were you."
She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, unable to form words. "How- How can you know all of that? That's impossible." She left in a huff to go sit outside for her chicken escalope pizzaiola.
Sherlock turned to John, his eyes excited and wild. "Come on, John, the game is on!" He grabbed John's wrist and tried to pull him along to run to Scotland Yard, but John pulled away.
"No, Sherlock, the game is tired. I'm going home. We can talk tomorrow after work." He tossed money on the table and picked up his coffee. "I'll call you, alright?"
Sherlock deflated. "Yeah, okay. It's just… I thought it might be like old times, you know. Just you and me, racing around London."
John shook his head wearily. "I'm sorry Sherlock, it's not going to be like that. Things are different. You used my past as a weapon against me. You aren't the man I used to race around London with." He looked into the taller man's eyes, the color dull. "I'll call you." And with that, the grey-haired doctor left with his coffee, his lab coat still on and catching the autumn wind.