hiraeth

Chapter one

He knew walking out that door was a mistake the second he took the first step, but pride has a funny way of forcing you to continue.

The snow glided down, landing on Sherlock's hair, his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets, trying to keep the little warmth they had left. He was absolutely freezing, and the water sloshing around in his left shoe wasn't helping. He was pissed, completely consumed by rage, at his brother, at the weather, at the cab that drove past him and splashed the water into his shoe. Today had been an awful day for this Holmes brother. He stalked down the road, in search of nothing in particular, he knew where he'd want to go when he saw it. And after a devastating cold ten minutes, he arrived at the destination he didn't know he wanted to go.

"Pot's On" was the name of the tea shop he entered, his eyes scanning the inside, his mind flooding with a strange relief as he realizes that there was barely anyone in there. Why would there be, it was quarter past nine at night, and who in their right mind would be out at a tea shop in this weather? But those who knew Sherlock, knew that he wasn't always in his right mind.

Taking a seat by the window and watching the people outside he drums his fingers lowly on the table.

"Hi, I'm Veronica and I'll be your server this evening." A black haired girl pops up and takes his order, bringing his tea.

He sits there, watching the steam rising from his cup, slowly evaporating into nothing as it gets higher. He blows softly at it, watching it veer off it's intended course, a small smile slipping onto his face. His little moment is interrupted when a hand slams down onto his table. In shock, he jumps a little as his head whirls around to the person next to his table.

"Oh I'm so sorry sir!" A pair of mismatched eyes, one green, one blue, finds his confused gaze. "I tripped over, oh, uhm, nothing apparently, I didn't mean to bother you." He notices the panic on her face, her eyes wide, eyebrows raised, her fidgeting hands. "I'll pay for your tea, as an apology." She nods her head furiously. "I, uhm, mean, that the tea is on the house."

A slight smirk crosses Sherlock's features and he nods silently. "Apology accepted."

She nods and scrambles off to the counter, going to Veronica and gesturing at Sherlock as she speaks to her. He stares at her, as she walks to her tables and interacts with the other two people in the tea shop. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, it swings around as she walks, her face scrunching up as she cleans her other tables. Sherlock watches her until Veronica comes to tell him that they are closing soon, and he nods, finishes his second cup of tea and gets up. He searches for the red haired girl again, and is pleasantly surprised to see her in front of him.

"Again, I'm so sorry." She gestures to the counter. "I paid for the tea and I hope this hasn't put you off from this place." Her fingers pull at the end of her shirt. "The tea really is good, and the food and all the other servers are amazing." She ducks his gaze every few seconds, her eyes darting over his shoulder.

"You picked a funny line of work for someone who doesn't like interacting with people." Sherlock knows that most people don't like to be analyzed, and his learnt to almost keep it to himself, but he couldn't keep this in and he figured that his day has been so shit already, her getting angry at him wouldn't really affect him at this point.

She tilted her head to the right, a surprised frown making its way onto her face.

To Sherlock's surprise, this action made her look adorable, and he realized that he didn't want her to be angry at him.

She gave a him a small nod, "I didn't exactly choose this." A chuckle escapes her lips. "Am I that bad at it?"

He gives her a small grin, shaking his head. "No, I can just see you're nervous." He downplays his little gift of deduction.

"You can?" Her eyes widen, and his heart speeds up the tiniest bit in fear that he hurt her feelings.

"I'm just very perceptive."

"And here I thought I was hiding it."

"You were doing a good job." He smiles at her. "I have to go, it's getting late."

The panic seeps back into her face, her body language suddenly rigid. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here."

He shakes his head at her, "you haven't." Which is a half-truth. Sherlock is very good at those, half-truths, only giving you enough to form your own conclusion, which is almost always not what he was actually saying.

She gives him a soft smile, "have a good night."

He nods at her, stuffing his hands back into his coat pocket. "You too."

Walking out of the store, he glances up at the sign, smiling softly at himself. He needed to come back here.