How Far?
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- Parts 9
Lewis Rutherford, 27 years old. Lives in the bustling city of London, working for a massive company in the North of London.
Jackie Meeks, 24 years old. Lives in the bustling city of London, owns a very well earning cafe in the streets of North London.
The two bump into each other one time when heading into their jobs. They exchange quick words but are both hooked on the thought of the other. What was it the got them so engaged in the idea of each other? That's the real question.
How far will these two go to find out what has them connected?
(this is probably gonna be so cringe and horrible but oh well I'm bored and I gotta love myself a bit of romance that's a struggle!!😂 also, Lewis's job will never actually be confirmed because I don't know what job he would have but he's some kind of business guy I don't know just imagine what job it is he would have!)
Things are also used in a fictitious manner so don't take anything too serious! Anything that somehow represents real people is purely coincidental! Now enjoy!
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#290
café
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221B Baker Street was not supposed to be my final destination. It was a pit stop. A temporary, financially questionable decision in one of the most expensive cities in the world. A place to exist quietly. To keep my head down, drink overpriced coffee, and avoid unpacking my emotional baggage. Then I met Sherlock Holmes. And quiet ceased to exist. One minute, I was just a tenant in a slightly dysfunctional flat. The next, I was the unwilling documentarian of absolute madness- ✔ Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective, who refuses to function like a normal human being. ✔ John Watson, who has reached new heights of exhaustion thanks to said detective. ✔ Mrs. Hudson, who is not a housekeeper but absolutely runs this place like a benevolent overlord. ✔ Molly Hooper, the forensic pathologist who is finally terrifying Sherlock (to my endless delight). ✔ Mycroft Holmes, who controls the British government but, more importantly, cannot figure out why I exist. ✔ Lestrade, who shows up mostly to suffer. ✔ And Rosie Watson, who is officially my tiny, all-knowing best friend. I am not a detective. I am not a hero. I am just the one thing Sherlock Holmes cannot deduce. My name is Safa. I babysit Rosie for extra cash, I document Baker Street's chaos out of sheer pettiness, and I gloat about my food just to drive Sherlock insane. I tell myself I don't belong here. That I am still just passing through. But the thing about living at Baker Street? You don't realize you're home until it's time to leave. And for once, Sherlock Holmes never saw it coming.
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