*John*
Molly hands me my drink, chattering on about something related to chemistry earlier today as I raise my cup to my lips and take a long drink of the bitter tea. Sherlock is uncharacteristically late, neglecting to message me back, but eventually the door swings open and he makes his way to the counter where Molly and I are.
"Sorry, I had to deal with something at home."
I nod, Molly hurrying off to make Sherlock's drink as I hand him his bag and we start pulling out the chemistry work. She sets it down in front of him, smiling warmly and helping out where we need it to get our chemistry project finished up. Sherlock is as silent as he can be while still helping me, but the absence of conversation does not go unnoticed, and Molly is happy to fill the void by talking about non chemistry related things, mostly her cat, but my attention remains focused on Sherlock's odd mood. I find myself growing uneasy in the semi silence, especially since the cafe is mostly empty save for a couple sitting in the front booth beside the window. By the time my worksheet is finished, Sherlock isn't responsive beyond a passive nod or two; staring intently at something just over my shoulder, which I realise now to be a second pair of boys that I hadn't included in my original count.
"Sherlock?"
Molly stops talking abruptly, following our gaze to the two boys behind us.
"What's wrong with him?"
I shake my head, continuing to observe the silent boy across from me. Someone approaches our table, one of the boys I realise, and Sherlock doesn't drop his gaze until he is spoken to. The boy is shorter than his companion, who remains at their table, observing us in a challenging silence. Molly and I are ignored, but the blond boy seems to be interested in Sherlock.
"Fancy seeing you here Sherly, wasn't expecting a visit."
His Irish accent is thick, tone teasing and light. There's an odd glint to his eyes, hair ruffled in a way that makes him appear to have just gotten out of a fight. The bruise across the left side of his cheekbone, shaped more like an open hand than a punch, leads to more of a conclusion of abuse than a fighting habit.
"I wasn't here for you."
Sherlock's voice, in contrast, is softer. More cautious. Each word carefully crafted, and I realise with almost exact certainty that, if angered, Sherlock will be able to take someone down with only his words.
"I think we both know that's not quite true. You miss me, admit it."
The glare Sherlock shoots at the boy is enough to set my nerves on end, his eyes akin to those of a cornered dog, expression growing more troubled the longer the silence stretches between the two boys. Molly intervenes eventually, standing up and reminding the boy to be at least somewhat civil.
"If you don't leave the other costumers alone, I'm going to have to ask you and your friend to leave."
He nods, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small wrapped box. Sherlock doesn't move when the box is placed in front of him, waiting until the bell above the door rings out to alert us that the boys have left before he reaches out and moves the box closer to himself.
"What was that about?"
"Old acquaintance."
The first words Sherlock has spoken to us in a while, and they don't make sense enough to give us information.
"Sherlock?"
He shakes his head, slowly reaching out and drawing the blood red ribbon out of its bow so he can pull off the silvery wrapping paper. Molly goes to clear off the other table, shooting me a concerned look before she walks into the back. His hands start shaking as soon as the box is opened, blinking rapidly to clear tears out of his eyes.
"What's in the box?"
"It's fine. Nothing to be concerned about. I ummm....I have to go now."
He gets up abruptly, tossing down a few bills to cover his drink, and disappears out the door before I have a chance to say anything. Molly returns, drawn by the sound of the bell, and her face drops when she realises Sherlock isn't here anymore.
"I'll call you if he messages me."
She nods, collecting mine and Sherlock's cups before heading back off into the back.
