221B

Chapter 1 - A Study in Pink

Chapter 1:

A long time before 

Kate:

I’m late, and I live about a block away! How can this happen? I know, it’s the first time in a year I’ve been late to work, but how can this happen? I’m not supposed to be late when I live about a block away! My boss told me so. Idiotic Jeremy. He's going to be the end of my life with how much he chides me “Clean this place up! It smells like a pigsty! And look at this counter! Littered with food crumbs and…is that a termite on the counter?!”  Of course it smells bad, it’s a pub! And of course there’s food crumbs, food’s served here also! And of course there’s going to be termites-the whole place is made of wood that attracts the bloody termites to it just as a flame does to moths!

I slam the door and run down the four flights of stairs, skipping steps at a time. There’s no elevator in this four-story building, even if there was, I probably wouldn’t use it. It wouldn’t work so well on the first day based on the state of this ancient worn-down building.

“You’re going to be late!” Jeanine, the woman who works in the lobby in my building reminds me with her Irish accent as I run past her.

“Only my first time!” I say over my shoulder, rushing out the door and into the brisk air of London, throwing my jacket on as I run. I turn into an alley to take a shortcut to the pub where I work.

I slip in through the front door, hoping Jeremy wasn’t there working at the pub today. Of course he was. I run to the back of the counter, and throw my jacket off, hanging it on a hook and throwing on a waist apron.

“You’re late.” Jeremy says with a scowl.

 “It’s only my first time.” I say quickly and quietly.

“You live nearly a block away! You shouldn’t be late!” He scolds.

“I’ve worked here approximately for one year, five months, fourteen days, sixteen hours, forty-eight minutes and 45 seconds.” I say, glancing at the analog clock above the door as I announce the seconds’ part. “Now 46 seconds.”

“Is that what you do in your spare time? Counting how long you’ve been working here down to the exact second?” He demands. "No wonder you're so alone."

“No, I just like keep track of how long I’ve survived here in this place.” I answer quickly, ignoring his comment.

“My shift’s over. Jack will be here any second and I’ll tell him about you being late.” Jeremy says stiffly, hanging up his apron and walking out the back door.

Jack walks in, his hand smoothing back his spiky light brown hair, and putting on an apron.

"Hey Kate." He says, looking at me with his dark brown eyes. He receives a text on his phone and reads it.

“So you were late.” He says to me, not looking up from the screen. “I’m told you’re supposed to work the tables.”

“Not the tables! Jack it’s only been my first time. Please, no!” I plead. Working the tables is complete hell, the counter is a little better, but not much. Then again, working here is hell, but I somehow I get by...somehow.

“Fine, you work the counter, I’ll work the tables. But if you’re late again…”

“Thank you!”

“It’s alright, besides, I like working the tables better than the counter.”

“Really?” I ask in disbelief.