I’m Not That Angry
by J.H. Watson
~ 150 words
“Black, two sugars.”
It’s funny what you remember, John Watson thought as he put down his cup of coffee. He pulled out his wallet and signaled for his check. When the waitress merely waved a lazy hand and continued chatting with the tall man who’d ordered the coffee, John tossed a note on the table and left.
He’d been fine. He’d been fine for days. Until he heard a posh baritone order a cup of coffee black, with two sugars. John pressed his lips together and blinked telling himself it was the biting, bitter wind that made his eyes sting and well up. He walked on, his hands jammed into the pockets of his black jacket, his shoulders hunched, against the cold he told himself again. It’s just that I’m cold.
It seemed like lately John was always cold.
## End ##
I swear this started out to be a comedy… I have no idea what happened. I think I had an attack of the Reichenfeels.
But seriously given how Sherlock takes his coffee and the fact that the one thing he raided from Mrs. Hudson’s fridge was a icing covered tart, I think it’s safe to say that Sherlock has a sweet-tooth. So I’m thinking John (or Molly) could do a bit of neuropsychology here…