A/N: The double quotation quotes don't work for me, so... I'm backtracking. Call me an old-fashioned British-inspired idiot, but I like how the dialogue melts with the narration a bit more with single quotation marks. Apologies for the experimentalism of it all. In short, 'speech' is dialogue, "expression" is quoting including sarcasm quoting, Italics is emphasis or inner realisations, bad grammar is born out by second language mistakes and my description-prone first language's ingrained habits, spelling mistakes were missed upon reviewing or I was plain wrong, and I'm definitely not a proper writer. Easy to follow, huh? -csf
1.
As I arrived at the café, Sherlock was already there, regally sat by the widow, his sharp cheekbones a darker relief against the grey rainy street. I was thoroughly impressed with the wad of negative space around my friend, as all the other customers in the slowly filling café seemed to be trying to cram together on the opposite side of the room. I didn't waste too long wondering what sort of improprieties he had spewed as unintentionally verbalised deductions, as I know cafés, tube stations and supermarkets can be particularly tough on Sherlock on a bad day. Too much information influx, too many deductions, he really tries to hold them back but sometimes they spill out and not always are they kind or gentle. In fact, nearly never.
I hate London's rush hour traffic, I should have got here sooner.
Sherlock is faking disinterest in my analysis of him, and a general indolence that does not match the stress marks on his jacket sleeves, crisply tugged down repeatedly, if I have learned anything from my friend's work.
Also noticeable is that, despite texting me to meet him here 20 minutes ago, Sherlock has no drink nor food in front of him. I would blame an appalling table service, but this café is self-servicing. And, of course, Sherlock will have completely missed out on that little gem of information, being so used to tea magically appearing by his wrist all the time at home.
'Hi, mate, sorry I took so long!'
Sherlock brings icy blue eyes to focus on me, scrutinising my face, my hair, my shoulders, my left jacket sleeve and the fresh scuff marks on my right shoe, in turn.
'There was no hurry,' he magnanimously settles for. I'm impressed, he must know about the new mum's having a bad fit at the surgery, just as I was about to clock out. Obviously I stayed behind to stabilise the patient until the paramedics took over.
Sherlock might try to be understanding, but it's part of his personality that this overexposure to people, deductions and stimulus got to him a bit. He tries to anchor his thought process by focusing on my left sleeve; apparently there are still some deductions left to be had there.
'Come on, mate, let's get you a drink.'
He follows me willingly, but still cautious, subdued, as a man waiting to be mauled by a threatening crowd of tigers. If he instinctively steps into my personal space as me make our way to the barista, I don't let it bother me. This is Sherlock, he does that all the time.
Here he revives briefly, issuing orders for the perfect sweet tooth coffee lover and the tea addict facing the bearded, rolled up sleeves young man behind the counter.
'Names?'
Sherlock eyelids flutter. 'Coffee and tea?' he asks dubiously, comically scrunching his face. He only does that – admit his confusion – only if I'm there, I noticed. Any other time he'd hurl an acerbic tirade at the unsuspecting barista to deflect from his lacking social skills.
'No, your names. I'll call you out when the beverages are ready.'
'Oh. John and Bill,' Sherlock retorts with a fake polite smile that drops to fast for comfort.
'Bill?' I repeat, as soon as the bearded guy walks away.
Sherlock shrugs. 'Ever tried spelling my name for a paper cup?'
'Actually, yes. Point taken. Can you be Bill from now on? It would save me a lot of typing on the blog.'
Sherlock's face spasms in a genuine smile he is decided to hold back on.
'Bill and Jo, Baker Street's consulting detectives? Doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?'
I'm chuckling at that, and Sherlock's handsome face finally fully relaxes into a beaming, slightly coy smile. He should smile more, crosses my mind; I want to make him smile more.
'I'm not a consulting detective, you are! You invented the job!'
'I have,' he admits. 'So I can bestow it upon you as well. John, you've been my blogger for decades!'
'Years,' I correct.
'We've known each other since we were infants.'
'No, since I returned to London after my deployment in Afghanistan. Are you having memory problems?'
'Details are irrelevant when I feel as if I have known you almost the entirety of my life and we act like inseparable siblings – the good kind of siblings.'
Same here, mate. I nod, wondering where Sherlock is going with this. There's always a reason, with Sherlock.
He sighs, as he admits he will have to spell it out to me. 'John, I have been trying to apprentice you in the Science of Deduction from the very beginning. I have been a relentless mentor, a kind-hearted supporter, a patient professor, and an occasional strict headmaster. Have you seriously not taken any notice?'
Yeah, but— I thought he shared his deductive methods with me because he was showing off, he seek praise and admiration, he enjoyed relaying a difficult crime scene read to me (instead of Lestrade, who happened to be standing just by our side), because Sherlock liked the attention. Did he think, all these years, that there was potential in me to be as brilliant as him?
The barista interrupts us with the two paper cups, named John and Bill. And if Bill's paper cup has the barista's own phone number for my dandy friend's perusal, I rest assured Sherlock has already deduced the barista (and his room mates) and cast him off his mind in the first three seconds of laying his eyes on the hapless man.
There's another good reason for Sherlock not to give out his real name. "Sherlock" is a very unusual name, and too traceable the public persona that Sherlock likes to keep under wraps. "I'm a private detective, John, the last thing I need is a public image."
'Hey, let's see if that seat by the window is still available, mate,' I say to buy me some time before a real answer.
.
'An intensive crash course,' I repeat, a bit flustered. 'You intend to give me a week long crash course on the Science of Deduction.'
'Might take longer,' Sherlock notes with both angelic innocence and mischievous sparkle in his eyes. 'But let's start with a week. Then we can test you at a crime scene, evaluate your improvements.'
'What if I haven't improved?'
What if realises I'm never going to be like him? Will he get bored of dragging me on his Work? Will he search for a replacement?
'John, your heart rate went up alarmingly and conversely your face has become incredibly pale, suggesting you might want to take a deeper breath before you start feeling lightheaded.'
'I'm the doctor here,' I snap, harshly.
'You're not in possession of a mirror, so just trust my observations. John, did I say something wrong? Did my offer make you feel... uncomfortable?'
His eyes rapidly flick towards the phone number scrawled on his coffee cup. A stab of jealousy makes me deduce he's picking his next apprentice already. No, I must calm down, explain what Sherlock cannot deduce; emotions.
They don't come easy on me either.
'What then when you find out I'm not clever like you?'
Sherlock's bristling energy subsides with an imaginary crashing sound around him. He softly tilts his head a tiny bit and looks me in the eye as if he had finally managed to compartmentalise us from the rest of the crowded café.
'John, I don't need another me. In desperation, there's always Mycroft, my terrible brother. No, I want to teach you the Science of Deduction because it's something you, of all people, can appreciate. Unless, of course, you aren't interested.'
'Sherlock, I...' My smile almost gets in the way of my next words. 'I would be honoured.'
'Good. We'll start right away.'
'Shall we head back to 221B?'
'Oh, no. This will place will do, unless you particularly enjoy the tea they produce?'
He seems genuinely interested, so I assure him:
'The tea is passable at best.'
'Good. We may not be welcomed back by the time we finish our first lesson, please bear that in mind.'
'Do all your lessons come with fair warnings?'
'Only the first few. You'll be expected to deduce the risks yourself after that.'
We share defiant smiles in the distant buzzing of the café.
.
TBC
