Chapter Text
If like indeed attracted like, Sherlock Holmes and Professor William James Moriarty would be the living proof.
Sherlock Holmes, as a barista, was an outstanding one. Not only was he knowledgeable on the types of coffee and the blends, not only could he precisely fine-tune the coffee grinder to suit the humid weather of Durham, not only could he perfect every coffee menu, he was also observant and spontaneous. If the customer were of old age, he would adjust the temperature of the milk he put in their cappuccino. He also told me to ask customers who came with infants if they wanted us to warm up the baby’s food.
He was an exemplary barista.
Recently, though, Sherlock Holmes had been faced with an issue: the new professor who had just started teaching at the university.
Professor William James Moriarty, the genius mathematician with his PhD research on applying the Mandelbrot set to analyze arrhythmia and other irregularities in pulsation. The results were not only beneficial to the medical field, but to the forensics as well, as his research was further used to improve polygraphs. He was in his early twenties, or so I’d heard.
Aside from his astute mind, it could be said that his appearance was also ‘ethereally’ handsome. His speech was eloquent, his posture elegant like a fairytale’s prince, his smile radiant, and his heart kind and patient.
Came to think of it, Sherlock also enjoyed and excelled at crime investigation to the point of collaborating with international organizations to solve impossible cases. But for some reason, he had decided to become a top barista.
Well, even though I was not as observant as Sherlock, I knew from first glance that he was shot by the cupid’s arrow. He might not even realize how enamoured that certain customer made him feel.
Initially, I, like everyone would, assumed they were attracted to each other’s geniuses. Which, yes, but there was more.
“Sherlock, can you bring prof his coffee?” I asked.
The tall figure about to lean his body weight into pressing the tamper slipped. He quickly grabbed the counter’s edge before he planted his face onto the floor like the tamper and the coffee basket, falling with a loud, innocent clank.
The ponytail guy’s movements became robotic, tips of his ears flushed red. “Why it gotta be me, John? You’re also free.”
I stepped towards him, nudging him with my elbow. “Don’t you wanna go chat with him?”
“But bro, I’m a barista,” Sherlock averted his gaze.
“ I’m also a barista stop being a coward, Sherlock!” I let out a long sigh, shoving the coffee tray to him. “Prof’s break won’t last forever. Just go, you idiot!”
“Who’re you calling an idiot, huh?”
“We’ll see who’s the real idiot soon,” I smirked, feeling like a villain mastermind like I’d never felt before.
My best friend took in a deep breath, straightened his back, and went towards the blond seated by the window. I walked to watch the whole thing behind the cashier with Irene and Martha. This late in the afternoon, there was hardly anyone. Since we’d gotten some free time, we could use some observing the idiots in their natural habitat.
“Here’s your americano,” said he.
“100, 99, 96, 91, 84, 75, 64...,” William James Moriarty crossed his legs, a soft smile gracing his lips. The shine in those scarlet eyes, however, was daring.
“51,” Sherlock immediately replied, putting the cup on the round table. “1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13.”
“Excellent.” The smile widened, sending the barista’s ears beet red.
I knew they were playing riddles and number sequences—something they’d been doing for months since Prof came to Durham—but I couldn’t quite follow since they communicated through codes. If they weren’t prodigies maybe they would have been psychopaths. Irene thought about it for a bit before nodding to herself. Martha decided to not think about it, and so did I.
Anyway, we decided to continue our watch.
Sherlock took a glance at his wristwatch. “It’s about 3 right now. Have you eaten?”
Professor mimicked the same action. His eyes widened. “Oh, you’re right. I think I’ve forgotten lunch.”
“Well, would you like my homemade sandwiches?” Sherlock averted his gaze.
“That’d be lovely. Thanks,” William beamed.
Then it seemed to us like our barista had his bushy tail wagging all the way back from Professor’s seat. When he returned, Professor Moriarty asked yet another question.
“Do you know why I chose to ask that easy question?”
“Hm, can you give me a clue?”
His ruby-red eyes glimmered, “Well, you might find the answer in the answer.”
Sherlock left his customer to enjoy the food for a while. After the Professor had left, Martha started, “Sherlock, for the 38th time—”
“Actually, it’s the 52nd time already,” Sherlock retorted.
She then seemed like she wanted to violently throw the guy out of the window, but she could only violently throw her hands “—for the 52nd time, Prof has a crush on you, he’s flirting with you!”
“What? Can you be any more stupid?” He frowned. “There’s no way he likes me.”
I also wanted to join in on the fun. “Trust me, you’re the number one idiot here, Sherlock Holmes.”
We had to cut the conversation there to accommodate new customers. Sherlock furrowed his brows brewing coffee almost until we close the café.
In short, the other thing that seemed to attract them towards each other was how noob, useless, and idiotic they flirted.