Every Consulting Criminal Needs A Companion (Wholock)

Silence In The Coffee Shop

Author's Note: Sorry for such a short prologue! I just needed to introduce Jim being reborn to start all the drama. XD

Also, sorry the paragraphs aren't indented. Why doesn't the tab button work?!

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The nineteen-year-old was humming nervously as he glanced around the coffee shop. His name? The Soldier, and he was bored. So bored. He was always bored! Why was there never anything to do? He gulped, remembering when there had been things to do and shook his head.

"Are you going to order coffee or what?" the waitress asked as she looked down at him skeptically. He felt hot under his uncharacteristic t-short and UK cap. "Um... Just the house special," he answered, string at the doors. He knew he shouldn't be here, but there was someone he needed to talk to.

"Okay," the waitress said, winking and walking off. As soon as she had left, the person he'd been waiting for walked in and sat next to the cafe window.

The Soldier moved over to this man's table. The man was staring out the window hazily. "Hey, um," the Soldier started nervously. He brushed a strand of extremely curly light brown hair from his face and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"How did you know?" the man asked, turning to him with a cold look. It made the Soldier shiver for more reasons that it should have.

The Soldier felt like he should make up some grand excuse like the person who this man had lost would have. Instead, he simply answered, "I heard about it. I-In the newspaper," he added quickly.

The man seemed to know what he was talking about. "Suicide of Fake Genius?" he said, guessing at the headline.

"He's not fake!" the Soldier shouted, drawing unwanted attention to the two.

"I know," the man sighed, glaring back out the window. Did anyone else think it felt stuffy? Whatever. He ignored the itch to go outside to get some fresh air. Besides, it was sprinkling outside...

"I never got your man," the Soldier said, hoping to change the subject. Ex-army doctor John Watson, he told himself. The man turned back to him, obviously annoyed.

"Dr. Watson," John replied curtly, getting irritated by the second. The Soldier smiled shyly and shifted in his seat. "And yours?" The Soldier came up with a fake name in seconds.

"Richard," he answered quickly. It was a common name, and John didn't seem to notice anything wrong with it. He could have come up with something better, but it'd have to do with the time he had been allowed. "Richard Brooke," he finsihed. As far as he knew, John knew no one with this last name, so he wouldn't ask an questions about family which the Soldier would have to guess at. He smiled a little at this lie. Not like you're not used to lying. Why is this one an acomplishment? he reminded himself.

"Can I take your, oh-" The Soldier's waitress seemed to realize he had not left but had moved tables."Sorry, I'd thought you'd left. I'll get your coffee right out, but while I'm here, would you like anything, sir?" she asked John. The Soldier took a quick glance over her, from head to waist (it was all he could see without looking under the table, which would have been weird...) She had thick, wavy, black hair which curved around her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were a pretty dark green with rings of brown in the middle: hazel, you might say. Her skin was tanned but not quite an olive tone. She looked cute and the good kind of innocent.

"Just a cup of tea," he responded. His words snapped the Soldier back to reality, who faked a smile at the waitress.

"Okay!" She wrote both of their orders down on her pad of yellow paper. "My name's Ashley; call me if you need anything!" she told them. She seemed to be hinting at the Soldier when she said her name, as if she wanted him especially to know. If she really knew who or what you were, she wouldn't be flirting, he thought to himself, faking his warm smile again. He watched as she left to put their order in, then turned back to John. "So...?"

"Did you know Sherlock before he.... died?" he coughed out, looking out the window at the freshing sprinkling rain.

"Sort of," he answered. Not like a friend though. He kept talking to himself. Why was he talking to himself again?! John nodded, hiding a bit of confusion. "I met him three different times, but for no more than about five minutes each," the Soldier finished. He looked up as Ashley came out with their orders. She set the cup of tea by John and then carefully lowered his own cup of house coffee onto the table. She slipped the check under the Soldier's coffee. He took out his wallet and payed before John could offer, hiding his ID so that neither would question the different face.

"Have a nice rest of the day!" she greeted. She mouthed, 'Call me!' to the Soldier before striahgtening her apron and walking off, humming under her breath. Written on the back of the receipt was her phone number. He stuffed it into his coat pocket for later. Apparently, John had noticed his ID and was frowning up at him. The Soldier suspected he hadn't gotten a good look since he wasn't acting more violently.

"Is that really your wallet?" John accused. He thinks I'm a pick-pocketer. Disgraceful. I'm much worse than that. The Soldier didn't respond though. He left the cafe silently. Nothing had gone as planned, and he'd forgotten to ask if John was doing all right...

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"It's been months, Sherlock!" Molly whispered to the sleep-deprived Sherlock on her couch. "You could at least get a job," she teased, smiling at him.

Sherlock groaned and sat up, his curly black hair going everywhere. "I don't think it's safe yet. You said Moriarty's body was never found," he reminded her. "What if he isn't dead?"

"Someone probably took him before the police could get there," she countered, standing and walking to the kitchen of her flat. "Oh, and I made some tea. What any?" she offered. Sherlock simply gave her a sideways glance and returned to thinking. "You could a-"

"Don't talk," he scolded. He was still the same old Sherlock. Nothing had changed with his faked death. Finally, he came back from his mind palace; Molly had been watching silently the whole time. "I'm going to surprise John then."

"What?" Molly said, a bit surprised. An to think she'd thought he'd been thinking about Moriarty's lost body.

"You heard me; don't make me repeat myself," he told her. He stood up and went to her room to change, leaving Molly staring bittersweetly at the shut door. Of course she wanted Sherlock to tell John he was still alive, that he'd asked his death, but at the same time she wanted him to stay here longer. She had been glad to feel needed for once.

Sherlock quickly got dressed in his favorite shirt (a tight-fitting lavender button-up with collar) and black trousers. He exited Molly's room and slid on his blueish-black trenchcoat, flashing her a fake smile so she wouldn't get too worried. Then, he left.

Once out of the street, he flipped his collar up and hailed a cab, trying not to gather attention. Hopefully no one would notice, or anyone who did notice would mistake him for someone else. He climbed into the first cab that came and directed them to flat 221B on Baker Street. He paid the cabby as they arrived at the TARDIS blue flat door and got out, flipping his collar back down and checking his watch. John shouldn't be back from work yet if he still had his old job. Sherlock took out his old flat key and opened the door, locking it behind himself. He quickly walked up the familiar steps, drinking in the smell it had ever since the day he'd left. When he got upstairs, the flat hadn't changed either, except for the fact that all his old experiments in the kitchen and his paperwork on the desk were gone. His bed was freshly used, so John must have moved down since he'd "died." He took his old place in the large chair at the edge of the room to wait for John.