...It's only the second time around with this and I've already managed to break my 100x9/1000 streak. This ended up being 1,300 words long. I tried my best to cut out 300 words of that but I just couldn't...it was all fairly necessary to character and plot development, unfortunately.

Thus, I threw caution to the wind and let it be 300 words over. I'll try not to let it happen again (I'm actually very embarrassed that it only took this long for me to be unable to make my standard).

Quick note: this takes place near closing time at the end of the evening. To try and keep it at an 00, I left out that particular detail. I just couldn't bear for it to be 1,305 or something as opposed to 1,300. I'm just anal about those things...

Also: More about John's history of enlistment in later chapters...

His Corresponding Piece

John was far from pleased.

"Tell him no and I'm quite sorry, but I'm just not the man he's looking for," he bit out crossly as he prepared a complex order for a woman in a robin's egg dress.

"Why don't you just give it a try, see what you think?" pleaded Mike. "I already mentioned him to you."

"Yes, you told me," John replied, trying not to sound so petulant and catty. "I still don't know, for the love of God, why you decided to mention me, seeing as how he's got some kind of twisted vendetta or whatever against me for taking over for his favorite barista!"

He quickly made his way back to the front counter to give the woman her coffee. As soon as she disappeared, he whipped back around to pierce Mike with an irritated glare. "Look," he said, "I don't feel comfortable around him, and as much as I'd love to get back into action at crime scenes, I don't know this guy. I don't know what sort of work I'd be doing, what pay would be, what his work ethic is...no, Mike, this is a mess. If I was friends with him, I'd maybe consider it."

Mike grimaced. "Ah. Yeah, becoming friends with Sherlock is...not the easiest task. See, he's...sometimes difficult to...work with. And don't get me wrong, he's a great guy, but he has a few...problems..."

"...What was the message under all that tact?" John demanded flatly.

"He has little to no social graces and meager patience for those who can't at least keep up a little with him." Mike hastily added, "But once you get to know him, he's good to have around! Intelligent, athletic, good-looking..."

"I'm not looking for a boyfriend out of him," responded John with asperity.

"But he attracts women like bees to nectar," Mike finished. "Perks to hanging out with him? Yes. And he gets you your dose of adrenaline."

John hesitated. "I'd have to think about it. I'd rather get to know him first."

"Great!" said Mike quickly. "He's waiting in the back room."

"WHAT?" A disbelieving John followed Mike into the back room only to find...

Shit, John thought as Sherlock Holmes turned and fixed him with his disturbingly unwavering gaze. I'm just not ready for this right now...

Sherlock looked John up and down and exhaled slowly.

"I will forgive all past grievances—" (Does he mean the tea and biscuits? John wondered incredulously) "—if you were to become my assistant. Of course, there are rules."

"…Rules."

"Well, naturally. You will be subject to my thinking aloud and will remain silent unless I specifically ask you to say something. You will not try to make me eat or drink during cases; it distracts me and leaves me unfocused. I will not tolerate laziness or blatant stupidity. If you find me playing violin during these times, I am not to be disturbed; it aids my thinking. Don't touch anything; not my personal experiments, not my journals, and most certainly not my violin. You don't answer to anyone but me. Is that clear?"

"…I haven't even said I'd be your assistant."

"No matter, I know you will be at some point," replied Sherlock with an airy wave of his hand. John's jaw dropped a little, surprise too great to let him focus on his indignation. "I know on very good authority that you are…what was it you said, Mike, 'an adrenaline junkie'?"

John cut in, "I wouldn't consider Mike 'good authority', Mr. Holmes—"

"Please, call me Sherlock. But I know that, being an ex-army man, you'll come rushing soon enough." Sherlock's eyes took on a gleam well-recognized by Mike, who smiled. "How's the shoulder?"

John seemed to have difficulty speaking. He finally managed to choke out, "I don't know how you'd know about that, but…" He struggled for a second and faltered, becoming resigned. "It's fine, thank you."

A ghost of a smile made the corners of Sherlock's mouth curl. "Excellent. I have a case tomorrow night if you would be so kind as to attend."

"Now, wait just a second," interjected John. "I have another job, you know. And I don't know you."

"Funny thing is, I know you," said Sherlock slyly. (At this point, Mike was barely coughing back a snicker; despite his cerebral and aloof nature, Sherlock was a drama queen to the toes and Mike knew it. No doubt he was just saying this for effect and in reality he'd just gotten Mycroft to look John up with his unsettlingly inexhaustible resources, and of course did his own "investigation" with his wits and deductive reasoning.)

John seemed speechless and looked a little like a fish with his mouth hanging open. Sherlock resisted the urge to reach forward and snap it closed with his hand. "Good night, John," he said almost teasingly (teasingly, John thought with a strange swooping sensation in his stomach) and without another word, left the back room with a flourish of his black trench coat to return to his table.

There was a long pause as John let all this sink in and Mike waited for his reaction.

"…Bloody hell!" John finally exclaimed, whirling on Mike, a stunned look on his face. "Did you…did you hear him? Did you hear him ordering me around? That…that…that smug bastard took one look at me and knew everything about me and even gave himself the authority to tell me what I can and can't do! What the hell?"

"Isn't he charming?" guffawed Mike. "So charismatic. He's a force to be reckoned with, to be sure, but I know you two will get along famously."

"Famously? Famously? How the bloody hell did you get 'famously' from that?"

"You don't know Sherlock—"

"Isn't that the truth! Dear God, what have you gotten me into, Mike?"

"Let me finish. You don't know him like I do. I know how he works, at least as well as a simpleton like myself can understand that brilliant monster that is Sherlock Holmes. There's something missing to him, and that something is you—his assistant."

"I'm not his boyfriend, his soul mate, nor any friend of his," sneered John, continuing scathingly, "don't pull 'completion' bullshit on me with that nutcase. I don't complete him or whatever the hell it was you said, and I'm almost offended to know that you think he completes me! What does that make me then; a psychopath?"

"I'm a high-functioning sociopath, please do your research," called a muffled yet still pointed voice from outside and John realized just how loud he'd let his words become.

He lowered his voice into a softer yet just as scolding tone. "I don't know what the hell you're thinking but that man is absolutely out of the question. I have a decent, steady job here and would gladly give up whatever excitement could come from a crime scene so as not to be with that…madman."

Mike held up his hands in a defensive stance, easy smile still on his face. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Give him a go, mate. I'll talk to him. Don't let him bother you; he's snippy with everyone."

"I am not snippy," retorted the muffled voice, much closer to the door now. John threw an exasperated look over his shoulder.

"You snip," Mike countered, seeming amused. He looked back at John. "If he were to just let you get to know him, do you think you'd consider becoming his assistant? Let him show you just what kind of person he really is."

John hesitated, mentally weighing his options. Finally, he let out a grudging "Fine" and crossed his arms.

Outside the door, Sherlock Holmes smiled and nodded. "We'll see..."

The prompt was #91: robin's egg