The first of the 1000-word chapters! John gets gipped by Sherlock. So does Lestrade.

Almost Completely Right

John hummed as he pulled out a rag to wipe down tables with. He glanced over at the peculiar patron with the cloak-like coat and the scarf. Underneath he wore a crisp, midnight blue suit.

A college student? A businessman? wondered John mildly, not really caring until he remembered that the man had actually been able to guess he'd been up late writing.

He squashed an urge to go talk to him. He seemed irritated with me anyway. God knows why, but he did.

But it was ten minutes til closing time, and the fair-skinned man with the dark curls had barely moved from his spot at the window table, staring out into the lit streets of London, shifting only to drink his tea and eat the white chocolate biscuit, which he slowly savored.

John hadn't really ever felt shy around people before but for whatever reason, found himself bashfully hesitant to approach this man. "We're closing in ten minutes."

The man's glass-blue eyes flicked toward him, then back to the window. "First week-no, third day here, taking over for a Miss Kimiko Mori. Took a part-time to pay for school no doubt, but you're not from around here. Bart's, I assume. Good luck funding medical school on the wages of a barista. What days are you working here?"

John tried not to gape, unsure if he should feel awed, indignant, or diminished. "Sorry, but...how on earth would you know any of that? I don't think I've ever met you."

"That's hardly of consequence; I was still able to rattle all that off about you, wasn't I?" scoffed the dark-haired man. "You didn't answer my question."

"Hmm? Oh...I'm here every night except Mondays."

The man very subtly sighed and nodded. "Yes, just as I thought. Thank you."

He left a small tip on the table, sweeping several (very large, John noted) bills into his coat pocket and walking towards the door.

"Just one," John blurted out, becoming quickly humiliated at his sudden burst. The stranger turned to look at him with what was either irritation or curiosity in his eyes.

"Just one of them, that's all I want. Tell me how you knew just one of those things about me, because I swear I've never met you."

"I believe I mentioned that whether or not we've met doesn't matter; I simply observe. Your eyes and your wrist told me about your late-night writing; your eyes are bloodshot and have rings beneath them-that was easy enough, even a simpleton could guess that." He seemed to smirk. "That was the easiest one."

John wanted to protest, ask about all the other things the man had known, but begrudgingly held to his promise of just asking for one thing.

At his reluctant silence, the man's smirk grew wider and he left with an infuriatingly amused look in his eyes.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sherlock had his own dorm room, and for good reason: as he unlocked his door upon returning home from Bean There, he was greeted by the ringing of an egg timer. Excitement spiking, he rushed to his window where on the sill there was a petri dish containing blood samples and a serum he'd nabbed from that stupid Anderson's incompetent assistant. He heard a crack as he stepped on a beaker, no doubt concealed over clothes and papers littered all over the floor (Sherlock was no longer able to tell you what color the carpet was, for he hadn't seen it in nearly a year).

He took samples from the blood and quickly slipped it beneath his microscope lens, turning on the light and tuning the focus. For several minutes he studied the microorganisms in the sample, texting Lestrade with one hand.

I want the sister of the victim from the alley accident in for questioning tomorrow. SH

Lestrade's reply was prompt. No one told you about that case. It's classified, particularly from you and your nosiness. How the hell would you know about it?

The secrecy of a case hasn't stopped me before. You shouldn't leave things sitting on your desk. SH

What a pest you are. Don't you have class or have you decided school is beneath you?

Dammit, I have a lecture tomorrow. Bring her in anyway, I'll text you what questions to ask her. SH

P.S. Mycroft says you need to pay me.

I'm sure Mycroft wouldn't be quite so rude and told you to ASK for payment. Yes, I'll pay you, but you keep quiet about it, since you're not actually an employee.

I won't say a word. Doesn't mean I won't wave the paycheck in Anderson's face. SH

Mycroft and I wonder when you'll grow up sometimes. It's always good for a laugh.

I'm sure. I'm going to send you a picture of these blood samples from the microscope. Keep them in the file. SH

Blood samples? You bugger, how did you get your hands on the blood samples? No doubt you stole some of Anderson's supplies. You could get in serious trouble for that, Sherlock.

Tell Anderson to get an assistant who is immune to flattery and flirting. He might be able to keep some of his things safe. SH

P.S. Remind me to return your badge to you.

YOU TOOK MY BADGE?

Goodnight. I'll try to make it tomorrow evening. SH

Sherlock! I want you at Scotland Yard NOW! I've been looking for my badge for days!

Sherlock? SHERLOCK?

XxXxXxXxXxX

John smiled a little, gazing down at his desk back at his dorm.

Well, he was almost completely right, he thought, lifting a notebook and flipping through the pages fondly. But, really, it would be hard to guess about something like this. It makes sense for me, a college-aged man working part time, to be staying up late writing essays, but...

He chuckled and closed the notebook, getting into his bed and hitting the light.

John hadn't been writing an essay; he'd been writing a book.

Prompt was #84: midnight

Again, if your curiosity or interest has been piqued, please let me know. I want to know how this is being received before I continue. Thank you, it's very much appreciated.