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John wasn't entirely sure how he got to Ratiocination. It was a dreadfully dreary day, typical for the change of season, with the kind of damp that seeped into your bones. Exams were approaching and he was utterly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed for an hour or twenty. Despite the fact he'd left his last lecture with every intention of heading straight to the library to lose himself for a few hours in yet another massive study session his feet led him in the opposite direction and the next thing he knew he was standing in line with the comforting smells and familiar atmosphere of his favourite coffee shop washing over him.
Shockingly, there was someone else behind the counter with Sherlock. An older woman, matronly in action if not appearance, chatted with the customers while smiling at Sherlock, occasionally resting a friendly hand on his arm or shoulder as she puttered about, plating baked goods from the new display case.
As befuddled as he was, it was only then John noticed the case, brimming with pastries of various sorts. He was happy to see it, the shop must be doing well if Sherlock had been able to purchase something like that. The pastries themselves looked delicious, so delicious that even though John had no plans on buying one, he spent the time waiting in line pondering over which might be the tastiest.
"Large soy milk latte, extra shot, three pumps peppermint, one vanilla and one caramel, with a mocha drizzle." The customer in question was a haughty, well dressed business man, tapping away on his phone as he spoke, never once looking up or even acknowledging he'd arrived at the front of the line.
Sherlock stared at him for a moment before simply saying, "No."
"Large soy milk latte, extra shot, three pumps peppermint, one vanilla and one caramel, with a mocha drizzle," the man repeated.
"And I said no. An order of such calibre is more appropriate for one of those run of the mill chain establishments whose customer base would not know a true hand crafted beverage if one jumped up and danced the tango in front of them. If you wish, you might try your luck at such a place instead of attempting to procure such a travesty here. Now shoo." Sherlock made a dismissive motion with his hand.
"Sherlock," the woman next to him chided, but even John could tell it was a half-hearted admonishment at best.
Sherlock shook his head at her, saying, "Not in my shop, Mrs Hudson. Not in my shop."
Sighing, she nodded and turned to the customer. "He's right, you best move on then," she said. "There's no reasoning with him when he gets like this."
"I will not!" The man blustered, his face reddening. "Not until I receive my drink. A large soy milk latte. Extra shot. Three pumps peppermint. One pump vanilla. One pump caramel. Mocha drizzle."
"I have no soy milk in my establishment. The mere name is a misnomer; milk is a liquid produced from the mammary glands of animals, not a substance made by the soaking and grinding of a specific legume. Beverage would be a better term for it, 'soy beverage' or perhaps merely 'soy drink', but whichever the term one decides is best, it is neither milk nor an item I stock so therefore if you wish someone to prepare your asinine concoction I suggest you move along!"
Now willing to accept defeat, the customer began ranting, talking over Sherlock and the woman assistant. John shuddered at the volume, each word was like a hammer against his brain and he shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead and willed the impending headache away.
"Oh, dear me, you're looking a bit peaked, aren't you?" A soft voice close to him said, startling him. It was Sherlock's new employee.
"I'm fine," John responded automatically.
"Malnourished, sleep deprived and under a considerable amount of stress, actually," Sherlock interjected, ignoring the still arguing customer. "And suffering from a rather dangerous drop in blood sugar. Bring him to the back room, Mrs Hudson, he needs to get off his feet."
"Sherlock, no." The protest didn't have a chance of succeeding, not with Sherlock, who ran roughshod over people with stronger willpowers than his every day, and apparently he'd have no luck against the kindly Mrs. Hudson either, who fixed him with a look that had his righteous indignation simply melting under its gaze.
"Come on, now. Let's get you sitting down and then I'll bring you a scone and Sherlock will make you some tea and you'll be feeling more like yourself in no time."
"But," he began, a firm argument against such treatment set in his mind, but he petered off when he realised he was already in said backroom and being pressed into a comfortable arm chair without any clear sense of how he'd gotten there or why he had been so set on insisting against it in the first place.
A plate appeared in front of him. "Here you try this now, it'll perk you right up." John blinked stupidly at it for a moment before realising the proffered plate had a large, craggy monstrosity masquerading as a scone on it and reached out, cautiously taking it and setting on his lap. Mrs. Hudson either failed to notice his confusion or was too polite to mention it and continued speaking, unabated. "My own recipe. Sherlock loves them, not that you can tell by looking at him. Thin as a rail, that one. Go on now, eat up. Sherlock will be along with your tea in just a moment." She shoved a napkin at him, John was slightly surprised she didn't tuck it in for him or something, before fluttering out of the room.
The pastry might have been odd looking, but it tasted amazing. John ate it slowly, savouring every bite.
"Good, isn't it?" Sherlock asked from the doorway.
"Oh, yes, you'll have to tell me how much it is," John insisted. "I've money. I can pay."
Sherlock exchanged the empty plate in John's hand for the mug of tea. "It's sweetened with honey. Not your usual manner of taking tea, I know, but better for your current state if the proponents of the glycemic index are to be believed. Try it, see what you think." Sherlock handed him the tea, waiting to release the mug until John had a firm grip on it.
It was strong and sweet, with just the right amount of milk. John was ashamed to admit that it took nearly a minute before he thought to thank Sherlock for the tea and scone, but his attempt to do so was brushed aside.
"Think nothing of it. After all, if all my customers were like that pompous arse before you in line, I'd have to close the shop or risk taking up the occasional murder in my spare time."
"Glad I could help then. Murder is not a recommended way of dealing with frustration- I believe the police frown on such actions."
"So they tell me. I need to head back out. Stay as long as you like though. I'll have Mrs Hudson bring you more tea in a little while, you're still a bit pale."
"Where did you find her?"
"Mrs Hudson? Such a treasure, that woman. She found herself at loose ends after her husband was sentenced to death in Florida. I was glad to help out."
"You... stopped her husband from being executed?"
"Oh no, I ensured it. Then I casually mentioned I'd no arrangement for baked goods here in the shop knowing she'd insist on coming in and doing it herself. Lovely women, Mrs Hudson, and she refuses to capitulate to the vapid masses anymore than I do, so I find her not too terrible to work with."
"Not too terrible, that's quite the compliment coming from you."
Sherlock grinned in response and patted John lightly on the arm before leaving. He paused in the doorway, "I'm glad you stopped by Ratiocination today, John."
"Thanks, Sherlock. So am I."