"Why are you at my café?" Sherlock asks the Torchwood team in a tone that's nothing short of imperious, and John wonders, not for the first time in the last few hours, if he's been proven a total masochist for taking on the job of translator and caretaker of the world's only consulting detective.

"Dr. Watson and I thought the lot of us could grab a cuppa," Gwen Cooper says, with admirable tolerance and restraint.

"To liaise," John interjects helpfully.

Sherlock looks at John with this blank expression, like John's just told him to get up on the table and dance to Kylie Minogue. "Why would that help?"

"Let's start over," the bloke in vintage military gear suggests, and stands to offer a hand to Sherlock. "Sherlock Holmes! Captain Jack Harkness, good to meet you."

Sherlock turns that expression on Harkness, and John decides to do something before Sherlock can insult the team any more than he's already done. "John Watson. Dr. Watson," he supposes midway through his introduction to the table at large.

The man in the nice suit seems just as eager to keep this conversation from backsliding into snark and condescension. "Ianto Jones." He shakes John's hand. "And you seem to've met Gwen."

"Why Captain?" Sherlock asks once there's a split second of silence he can fill.

Harkness answers the question without missing a beat. "I served back in the day, during the war, check out the stripes."

"And by the war you mean World War II?"

"Sorry, what?" Gwen interrupts, apparently unable to help herself. "That's mad – "

"Gwen," Ianto sighs.

"Sherlock – " John starts, in much the same tone as Jones, but of course he isn't listening.

"He's wearing well-worn, high quality genuine vintage military dress," Sherlock says to Gwen in weary condescension, "most likely worn by the American volunteers in Britain during the Blitz, if the insignia and his accent bear anything out, so either your 'Captain' Jack is both a fraud and a poor researcher, which I doubt, he earned the stripes back in the 1940s, or he is completely insane and believes he earned those stripes in the 1940s. And your conman's routine is entirely too well-practiced to be the work of a madman," he informs Harkness, "so we obviously have a time traveler gracing us with his presence."

This is too much for John. He'd almost respected Sherlock's deductive mind, too. "Let's just have some tea," he tries.

"Please," Jones says, with a get me out of here polite smile.

"Sit," John tells Sherlock, in his best brook-no-argument tone, and moves a chair over for himself.

Harkness is smiling enigmatically at Sherlock when John glances at him. "I'm not a conman," he says, friendly enough.

"Just what a conman would say," Sherlock deadpans.

"Some tea and then we'll get to business, I think," Jones says, as though the two egos haven't spoken a word.

"There's no business," Sherlock says, seamlessly switching tracks. "The suicides are my case."

"But how can suicides be linked?" Harkness scoffs.

"Easily. How can people travel in time?" Sherlock fires back.

"Easily," Jones deadpans. "They're not linked. We just want to look into Jennifer Wilson."

They're boring Sherlock, if the look on his face is any indication. That's disconcerting. Nothing good has come from that. "Because you suspect she's one of your paranormal cases."

"No one said this was paranormal," Gwen reassures them.

"You're Torchwood," Sherlock pronounces pointedly. "You have a reputation."

"They do?" John asks, blankly.

"We do?" Harkness echoes, with just enough sarcasm to make John start to dislike him a bit, charming or not. (The conman deduction is starting to make sense, actually; he's trying far too hard to impress everybody in the café, nonetheless at the table.)

"Don't be cute," Sherlock says tartly. "I emdon't/em share my cases."

"There's no harm in letting them look in on it," John tries. "To see if it is a Torchwood case."

"It's not," Sherlock informs them tersely.

Gwen smiles at the passing waitress to bring her over. "We wouldn't be asking if we didn't have reason," she says, surprisingly polite for someone who looks like she might punch Sherlock in the face if he keeps talking (which he will).

"Then tell me your reasons," Sherlock says without missing a beat.

Harkness smiles that polite American smile and says, "I'm sorry, that's classified."

"Classified. Naturally," John says, lightly cynical.

"Has this got something to do with the affairs?" Sherlock asks, as though he's asking for the time. John cringes.

Gwen looks blank. "How did you - "

He rolls his eyes. "Please, you know who I am, surely you can guess."

"You deduced," Jones says, in a clipped yet utterly helpful tone.

"Well. It wasn't very difficult," John says delicately.

Gwen scoffs at John, who sends her an apologetic look. Harkness cuts in. "We'll bring what we have to your office," he says. "And see what a little teamwork can do. Does that work for you, Holmes?"

"We haven't got an office," Sherlock says smoothly, "but I suppose a liaison wouldn't be out of the question."

Now John is confused. Wasn't Sherlock fighting tooth and nail mere minutes ago? "Well - we're right across the street, as you know - so whenever you can stop by - "

"I expect I don't have to tell you that time is of the essence," Sherlock interrupts swiftly.

"We'll fetch the information and be right over," Harkness assures them.

"Lovely," Gwen says, and moves to stand before anyone else can. "Tea and evidence, yeah?"

"Sounds great," John confirms, and wonders not for the first time if Gwen is single. "I'll... try and keep him in one place for you."

"No promises," Sherlock says, at his phone again.

"We should go. Ianto, get us coffee," Harkness requests of Jones, and gives John a fresh handshake. "Good to meet you both. Really."

"Of course," Sherlock says drolly, seeming to have given up on the conversation now that the case talk is over. "I recommend the espresso."

"Double shot," John agrees.

"Naturally," Jones says, with that brisk condescending tone and smile of his, and goes on, as Gwen and the "Captain" wander off together to the black SUV parked outside.

"Was that really necessary?" John asks Sherlock, unable to help himself. "All that time-traveler stuff? They're going to think you're a crackpot."

"He's wearing vintage military gear and I'm the crackpot?" Sherlock retorts.

John sighs. "There are eccentrics in the world, Sherlock - "

Sherlock barely manages to keep from rolling his eyes. "Really, I hadn't noticed - "

" - and you're one of them, so, thrown stones, glass houses," John says as non-judgmentally as possible.

Sherlock stares at him with that what must it be like to be so incredibly, insufferably stupid every day of your miserable life expression. "Good lord you're boring sometimes," is the delicate way he voices that thought.

"Right," John says, feeling quite a tit for no apparent reason. "Shall we go? You know, look over what we have - "

"We have plans," Sherlock interrupts him without any apparent interest in what John might have meant to say, "and we're going." He climbs to his feet and turns heel towards the door, leaving John to follow like the sad, pathetic, but utterly intrigued man he is.

Sherlock vanishes five minutes after the meeting at the cafe, as is his usual style. When John finally gives in and texts him, Sherlock answers with a simple emGo away. SH/em that pretty well sums his relationship with the man up, so he does as the madman says and goes for the teakettle.

"You've got police here, dear," Mrs Hudson pops in to say.

"Yes, nothing to worry about," John promises her.

Mrs Hudson smiles broadly at that. "Oh, tea on your off-hours, I see - so good to see you bonding with Sherlock's co-workers... well, he certainly won't - "

John takes pause as Mrs Hudson goes on with her assumptions and nearly corrects her, then decides better of it. "I wouldn't call them co-workers, but you can let them in..."

"Oh, of course, dear," Mrs Hudson says in brisk apology, and opens the door to allow Gwen, Jones and Harkness in. "Come along then - hello there," she adds to Harkness, who flashes her a grin. Oh, come on, John can't help but think. Mrs Hudson? He couldn't handle her, anyway.

"Hello," Gwen greets John warmly. "Ah... nice flat."

"It isn't. But thank you. I've only just moved in," John assures her. "Mostly Sherlock's things, still. Yes, that's his laptop," he adds to Jones, who's hovering around the laptop with what looks like a highly technological watch, the sort Harry keeps buying him and he keeps taking back to the store.

"I wondered," Jones says, as though he wasn't clearly thinking about stealing the bloody thing for whatever reason, and John starts to wonder about these Torchwood people, and specifically, emwhy Sherlock left him alone with them./em

"Right, so, I'll make us some tea and once Sherlock's here, we can get right to it," John decides for everyone, and stands, hobbling forward on his cane.

"War injury?" Harkness supposes, against all known laws of etiquette, and John just nods vaguely before going into the kitchen.

Apparently Gwen follows him. "Hello - just wondered if you had any biscuits, Ianto's a bit peckish," she says with another of those smiles.

"Yeah... I don't think we've - I'll look," John interrupts himself, because Gwen Cooper just asked him for biscuits. He's going to look for them.

"I think I can handle the tea," Gwen says dryly, and fills up the kettle. "Don't mind Jack. He can't help himself. Hopeless case."

"I know the type," John deadpans, and Gwen laughs. It's a nice sound; he doesn't think he's heard a woman laugh in a really long time, especially not at anything he's said. "So, you do the spooky stuff. Never heard of Torchwood, to be honest, so..."

"No spookier than what you do," Gwen promises him.

"Yeah. 'Course," John says, non-committal, standoffish instantly; after so many years with Harry he knows a practiced liar when he meets one. "People get ideas in their heads - well, you know." What is he even saying? At least she's smiling.

"You should hear the rumors," Gwen tells him, and goes on as she prepares the tea. "Oh - how do you take it?" she interrupts her little monologue.

"Er - sugar, thanks." She might have just caught him looking at her. She's definitely married or something - wait, what would Sherlock do?

That's a terrible motto.

Still, he does it, and there's the ring on her finger. She's married. Of course. "Well. People jump to conclusions," he answers Gwen's last anecdote about Torchwood. "I mean. About the suicides - well, no need to get ahead of ourselves."

"John, you'd better have started the tea, Torchwood is here," Sherlock announces as he gets in the door.

John hears Jones saying "Hello, then," in his usual cynical tone, and glances askance at Gwen, who gives an apologetic shrug. The two of them head into the main room with the tea, and Sherlock stares at Gwen as she sets the tea in front of everyone.

"You made this?" Sherlock asks her slowly, not even sitting yet.

"Yes," Gwen says, maybe a bit on the defensive.

Sherlock sits, apparently unwillingly, and Harkness doesn't miss a beat handing the paper file off to him the minute it looks as though he fully intends to ignore his tea like the bastard he is. He takes it without a thank-you or anything so coarse, and reads silently.

John gratefully drinks his tea, and receives a sharp look from Sherlock the second his cup leaves his lips. What?

Idiot, the look on Sherlock's face clearly says, but instead he says in a surprisingly civil tone, "You can't suspect alien involvement."

What? John runs that sentence through his head again.

"I'm afraid we do," Gwen says. "It's the one link they have in common - alien contact - "

"Don't be absurd, it's not the only link," Sherlock speaks over her, then continues on. "Contact with Torchwood - whether or not they remember it, of course - "

"Hold on, aliens?" John interrupts skeptically - wow, his manners have vanished as well, after all this time with Sherlock. "Weren't you just saying things like time travel were - "

"Do keep up, John. They were keeping up appearances. They'll be fully honest now because they've drugged us," Sherlock says, with idle confidence, "though I can't be sure with what. Don't drink any more of that, John."

"You might have mentioned that before I did," John can't help but point out.

"You'll live," Sherlock says dismissively. "We're useful to them now, they won't let us die. So." He shuts the file. "Are we liaising, or have you stolen all the information from the flat yet?"

Jones just barely cracks a smile. "We would appreciate a mind like yours on this case, Mr Holmes."

"I'm sure you would," Sherlock says, without the slightest bit of modesty. "Now we can speak honestly, and you can give my assistant the antidote."

"I'm not his assistant," John tries to explain to Gwen, even though there's no point impressing her anymore.

"You drive a hard bargain, Holmes," Harkness says, but pulls a vial from his pocket and doses up John's tea. "All clear."

"You drugged the tea," John repeats to Gwen incredulously. "With what?"

"Your tea," she says, apologetically. "And Holmes's. You'd have been perfectly fine – "

"Oh, thanks, that's better," John retorts, and drinks his antidote-laden tea then.

"No more games," Sherlock says bluntly to Torchwood. "We've a case to solve, let's solve it. John, you come with me, and Harkness - Jones, Cooper, I expect you're capable of doing the research involved. Watch your phones."

"He texts," John explains in an undertone, and fetches his coat.

"Where are we going?" Harkness asks, annoyingly upbeat.

"The skips," Sherlock says simply, and ties his scarf back around his neck. "Try and keep up."

"Ha, no problem," Harkness says, grinning and appreciative for some reason, and follows Sherlock out the door even more closely than John can. "Dumpster-diving! Good times."

"Oh god," John says under his breath as they descend the stairs. He's just been drugged by a pretty, married woman, cured by a time-traveling American, and now, rummaging through skips. But his cane's behind him, his hands are steady, and aliens exist.

It's been a hell of a day.