"Is Ms Grant's latte ready yet?" The question was a pressing one, and Sherlock Holmes was quite sure that no variation of a White Rabbit impersonation could possibly get him to work on time if this latte wasn't ready. Sherlock stated questioningly at the man over the counter as he grabbed a cup holder and a little plastic stirrer, watching as the coins he'd clumsily fished out of his trouser pocket earlier disappeared behind the counter.
"Right here," the man said, and placed the beverage in front of Sherlock.
"Thank you." Trying to balance out everything he was holding, Sherlock grabbed the Pumpkin Spice latte from the marble counter of the coffee shop and left, forgetting about the 50p change he'd left behind. He was running late for work- and he certainly would be closer to getting fired if he didn't get to work before Ms Grant did. Sherlock was her personal assistant, and spent his days at CatCo Worldwide Media carrying out errands for her and booking dinner reservations at fancy restaurants for her and numerous famous people (last week it had been Taylor Swift) and handling any other little things she required. That included getting her lunch and coffee- although not quite in that order, generally speaking.
Rushing towards the large glass building and making sure nothing spilled, he made his way towards the elevator, stopping in his tracks as he saw that the blond who was in the elevator shaft looked completely lost. Was he coming to work for Ms Grant? It was either that or he was here for the floor designs, becuase Sherlock had never seen him before. But Sherlock could not keep his mouth shut as he pressed the button for the 52nd floor. "Are you lost, Sir?" He asked politely.
He'd probably be late, if not by some sort of miracle, but looking back at this man, Sherlock decided he was worth a few minutes of his time.
After taking another look around at the elevator, the man looked over at Sherlock and let out a little chuckle. "I am, actually, yes. Have you got any idea where I can find Ms Grant?" He was biting his lip, now, as if embarrassed.
Sherlock thought it was attractive.
"Uh- yes. Yes, absolutely." Catching himself staring a bit too much, he jerked a thumb at the floor buttons and awkwardly let out a little laugh. "Y-eah. 52nd floor. That's where I'm headed too." Quite obviously, an inside voice jabbed, making him realise how stupid he actually sounded, and how much more embarrassing that was.
Probably trying to relieve some of the nervous silence Sherlock had lapsed into, the man extended a hand. "I'm John Watson, by the way."
"Sherlock H-" He was interrupted by the clicking sound of the very camera he found himself staring at as he clasped John's hand.
As the camera was lowered, Sherlock was given a somewhat sheepish smile. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself- you have wonderful eyes. Although I can delete it if you'd like."
Sherlock was too flushed to babble out much more than an 'it's okay' before he pushed his glasses a little higher up on his nose and stared at his feet. John probably thought he was an intern- and that was almost offensive; but in a good way.
He was still blushing when they stepped out of the elevator and got to the 52nd floor. Needless to say, he didn't complain when John followed him around, looking a bit like a lost puppy in a totally new environment. Unfortunately, /someone/ didn't give him the chance to admire John's chiseled jawline.
"Sherlock, tell me what the point of having a private elevator is when every day I find myself having to endure thirty seconds of sweaty air to get up here, only to have to walk through five meters of cheap cologne and more sweat."
"She clearly doesn't know what she's talking about, because you smell like a rose," came a whisper at his ear. God.
No. Stop.
He had to ignore this if he wanted to keep his job.
"Your latte, Ms Grant," Sherlock answered to his boss's complaint, holding it out for her. "And- uh- what would you like me to do about it?"
"Find whoever used the elevator and have them fired. Or bathed, I don't care which." Right. Everyone uses it, just because I was running-. She plucked the unpleasantly lukewarm beverage from him as she passed him, beckoning for her assistant to follow her into her office.
Sherlock grabbed his clipboard and stumbled in after her, straightening his glasses as he stood there in front of her desk.
"So," she started, examining her manicure, one which Sherlock had booked yesterday. "You know, I'd have thought you'd be aware of the 'no visitor' policy that we have going around here? Just because you make phone calls for me doesn't mean you get to bring your friends in, Sherlock."
The young man gave her an odd look through the curly bangs that fell over his eyes, and she responded with an irritated sigh. "The blond who was with you," she said, waving the silver ballpoint pen in her hand around in a conversational manner.
"O-oh!" He exclaimed, letting out a laugh. "Oh, psshht- him! No, he's not my friend. I barely know him, but- I- he said he wanted to talk to you? I mean, he was looking-"
"Stop talking and go fetch him, then," she said impatiently. "I haven't got all day, not if we're going to catch the better headlines and beat the Daily Planet in sales."
Sherlock was out before she'd finished and returned with John, the latter of which who had puffed his chest out and who strutted into the office, one hand on the camera that was still hanging from his neck. Ms Grant took one thorough look at him and smiled, walking out from behind her large desk to greet him, making Sherlock step aside to stand in his corner, feeling useless.
"John Watson," she said, giving a nod of her head. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
What?
Sherlock cleared his throat. "You two-?"
"Sherlock, floor plans," she said, as though she was reminding him of something she'd mentioned earlier. Shrugging, Sherlock stalked off, leaving Ms Grant to have what seemed to be a pleasant chat with John, no doubt about his- photography?
"Oh my god," Sherlock breathed as he stalked into the elevator, looking absolutely mortified.
The only reason John would be getting about four times Sherlock's own salary was probably because he was the famous photographer who had captured the very first real picture of the Superman.
And in his blind, sudden infatuation for this very handsome stranger, Sherlock had forgotten everything he knew about this man, and had instead babbled on about all sorts of nonsense, most likely making a total fool of himself, and- "God," he said again, as the elevator dinged and he stepped out into the architectural department to fetch the new floor plans.
There was no way he was going to be able to convince John that he wasn't an amateur, boring intern now.
No way.
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a/n: you can go check out the day he fell on my other acc too, @stardust24601if you're interested: I deiced to put it onto both accs because I guess I couldn't completely let go of all fanfic on my other account, and I was hella excited to star this one! So, I hope you guys enjoyed it, and don't forget to vote or/and comment!
