Watson's

Chapter Summary: John opens a small restaurant when he gets back from Afghanistan and there's a new restaurant trying to bully every other kind of competition out of the neighborhood. They might succeed against others, but they aren't prepared to go against Captain John Watson and the loyal regulars Mycroft, Sherlock, Lestrade, Jim Moriarty, and Sebastian Moran who have become extremely fond of the place and the man who owns it.

Tags: CafeAU, Descriptions of food. Sooooo much food. it qualifies as food porn there's so much food. My intent was to make you hungry and I succeeded. Pre-relationship Johnlock.

Warnings: Language, violence, mild M/M relationships

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of it's characters or content. This story is for entertainment purposes only and I am not making any money off of this fanwork.

A/N: Originally a prompt from the kink meme. holds status of Incomplete due to plot bunnies with Narcoleptic Attention Deficit Oooh Shiny Disorder

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John smiles at the dapper gentleman and his assistant as they come in promptly at seven just like always. "Good morning Mr. Mycroft, a booth is ready for you if you will be staying today."

"Thank you John, yes we will. I will have a large full English with Earl Grey tea today please."

"Poached eggs, seven grain toast, bacon extra crispy and blotted, sausage, blood sausage, breakfast potatoes, beans, mushrooms, and grilled tomatoes?"

"Correct, as always John."

"Fruit medley, or porridge with cinnamon and honey?"

"Fruit, and perhaps just a small side, if you have it."

"Of course, bubble and squeak, just made a fresh batch. And for you Miss Diana, or did you change your name again?"

"It's Larea today, nice to see you John. I would like the pick four fresh start breakfast, croissant un-toasted, with whipped butter and honey, a fruit and yogurt parfait with strawberry yogurt, soft boiled eggs, oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon, and to drink I will have an orange juice and a pot of English breakfast."

"Coming right up. Will you be having a take away lunch order as well?"

"Yes, keep the tab open."

"Very well, I will have your tea out to you in just a moment."

They sat there, tucked into their corner booth with a full open view of the entire place, and together they went over the days' agenda, full of conference calls, ambassadors, and envoys, Mycroft also had a few political wildfires to try and put out and twice as many strings to pull. It was going to be an exceedingly long day, probably fourteen hours minimum, that's why he was coming here now instead of whenever he had a chance to take a break, or at the end of the day. He doubted that John, kind and temperate though he was, was willing to stay open till eleven just for him so he could enjoy the rare peace and solidarity he found within these walls.

It was very strange for him to view John the way he did, not as a waiter or even a business owner who thought himself to be slightly important because he had other people to order around. No, surprisingly Mycroft viewed John as a strange sort of equal, and actually did view him as important in some way he couldn't quite define. John was always polite, and was actually allowed to be on a first name basis with him, and did not defer to him as almost everyone else did. His power and influence, even unspoken, did not strike the same chord of diffidence or the wide physical berth people tended to give Mycroft, even if they didn't know who he was.

But you entered John's shop, and it suddenly didn't matter who you were, you were a welcomed friend. That rare feeling of absolutely no expectations except to sit, relax, and enjoy one's self, Mycroft admitted he rather craved the feeling. Therefore they stopped in every morning, even if all they had time for was grabbing to go cups of coffee and tea, and a bag of pastries, breakfast rolls, or sandwiches.

John had turned him into an eternally loyal customer a year ago when they had been trying to finish a lovely breakfast that had just been served to them as quickly as they could, since an ambassador and a diplomat had just gone for each others' throats and it could have led to a civil war if he didn't get there to stop it soon, but he enjoyed the food here too much to just leave it. "Cancel lunch and afternoon tea, push back the phone conference with the Sheik until tomorrow, reschedule Berlin and Moscow, and possibly even Tokyo. I swear if they weren't already so intent on killing each other I would happily do it for them."

John had come over a minute later with two brown paper sacs along with their cheque and set one down in front of each of them. "As a doctor, I cannot condone the missing of two meals back to back for no other reason than you are too busy to sit down properly and eat something. Here, you can eat this anywhere, or even a little bit at a time whenever you can grab a minute if you are that busy. Each has a turkey sandwich with a serving of my special cranberry mustard, side salad with my house vinaigrette, hard boiled egg, apple, a few waxed cheeses, small fruit and yogurt parfait with granola, salt and vinegar crisps, fresh baked oatmeal biscuit, bottle of vitamin water, teabags of my house blend along with a cup, and a lunch packet of all the condiments and accompaniments you could possibly need, including cream and sugar. On the house today, and letting you know I have a takeaway cold bagged/ hot boxed lunch and afternoon tea menu, of which there are copies of inside. Never get so busy saving the world that you don't take care of yourself Mr. Holmes, or you won't be around to save it."

And just like that all of the added stress had melted away, simply because John had cared enough to show him a kindness he didn't have to, and for no other reason than he had wanted to. Mycroft and Anthea hadn't been starving or nearly as stressed by the end of that day, due to the one simple act of John anticipating their needs and fulfilling them without being asked or expecting anything in return.

They had become daily regulars after that, and anytime he had a large meeting to go to over lunch, he always called ahead to order a catered lunch for all of them, and he always got compliments on the food. He sometimes also dropped by at the end of the day for a cup of tea and to chat with John for awhile, defragmenting from the day so he didn't have to take any part of his work home with him or to the Diogenes Club. John was an intelligent and up to date man who didn't just pay lip service but actually listened to what people had to say, but he was in no way a gossip, and that was a rare quality to find these days.

Their breakfasts arrived and they ordered their hot boxed lunches. Chicken tikki masala with saffron rice, vegetable soup, hummus and pita, side salad, and strawberries with yogurt for her, and the beef stroganoff on egg noodles, lentil soup, steamed veg, side salad, bread, and fruit cup for himself. Both came with a packet of tea large enough to brew a single pot, a large fresh baked biscuit and scone, and a bottle of either juice, regular water, or flavored vitamin water. All of John's meals were like that, delicious, balanced, healthy, and fresh, and going just a bit beyond what was expected. He also catered to almost every palate or dietary need or restriction. Kosher, vegetarian, gluten free, low fat or sodium, everything had a place on the menu or could easily be substituted, and he clearly listed any foods with common allergen items on the menu. It was evident that John took great pride and care in his work, Mycroft knew it was proof that he would have been just as great of a doctor as well.

He happily dug in to the best start to his day that any man could ever ask for.

It's just a bit after noon and John moves slowly through the shop with a limp, more pronounced having set aside his cane to carry the tray, obviously he had had a busy morning. Sherlock of course has read nearly every detail of John's life from all the various clues and evidence scattered about his person that went unrecognized by anyone else. It had been over a year ago since he had first done it, yet Sherlock continued to read the signs and all the other new ones that appeared every time he came by. John's clues were welcome, familiar, and still endlessly fascinating for some reason Sherlock couldn't explain.

The first time, Sherlock had stopped in completely by happenstance in order to discretely watch his query on a case, had noticed John momentarily when he came by to take his order, and when the man held his gaze a moment too long, (only waiting for Sherlock to make his selection and nothing more, but Sherlock had been distracted and hadn't noticed.) he'd been his usual acerbic self of course, questioning why so highly an educated and decorated man had given up so illustrious a career in medicine in order to open up a cafe of all things, it was ridiculous, even teaching paid more. John's reaction hadn't been what he'd expected though. He'd laughed and called him brilliant right to his face, then given Sherlock a sample of the latest seasonal brew, and showed him his left hand and how it shook lightly.

"Surgeons can't have shaky hands or be unable to stand for long periods of time. It was a good life, but I can't do it anymore. I could still teach if this doesn't work out, but for now this makes me happy, I like meeting all the people who aren't out to die on me or have some terminal illness they expect me to miraculously be able to cure. So, what will it be?"

The coffee had been some of the best he had ever tasted and the tea was one of the most comforting things he had ever tried. Sherlock had been by nearly religiously about four to five times a week ever since then. He'd come daily if it wasn't a black day or he wasn't too busy in the mad dash of discovering clues and facts and figuring out the mystery of it all. He had to come back, the place was just that good. His thoughts seemed to slow and grow focused and clearer around John, and John's presence didn't wear on him, in fact he enjoyed the unassuming little man's company, his quiet calming demeanor, the warm fuzzy jumpers concealing and contradicting a war hardened soldier who still kept in rigorous shape, the constant supply of fine tea and small nibbles, nothing too filling, but still let John feel like he was feeding him, and the way everything seemed to ease off his shoulders the moment Sherlock entered the door. He'd taken to telling John about his cases, and the man's eyes would always light up in the most wondrous delight, he'd sit down and join him on a short break, earnest praise and amazement always spilling forth, and Sherlock could tell that he was really listening to him talk about his cases, was truly impressed with him, which made him want to tell John even more.

He had come by in the middle of a case this time and growled about how the clues weren't adding up and ranted for a good ten minutes about all the things that didn't make any sense, and he was beginning to wonder if it was all a conspiracy cooked up by the Yard in order to drive him mental. He wouldn't put it past Anderson. John had looked puzzled for a moment and then made the strangest non-sequiter "What did her teeth look like?" Puzzled, Sherlock had described them, terrible looking, like she had been beaten severely, a few recently missing, the gums had still been red, but there was no bruising on her face. John had just shook his head sadly.

"Terrible thing to be held that long, hoping to be rescued, only to be killed in the end."

"What do you mean?"

"She must have been held hostage for a very long time to get that sick, they weren't feeding her right. Her teeth, and nails, that's a classic sign of scurvy, had it at least a couple of months I'd say. Poor thing."

And suddenly everything added up. The kidnapper had panicked, unused to such dreadful business as murder, he'd been unable to go through with his threat and finish the job, so she had been held alive for months so he could try to think of what to do, and she was just never reported missing. She had no relations to speak of, no close friends either, had worked from home, so no one to notice she had gone. Eventually she grew so sick that he killed her, he couldn't have taken her to a hospital, she would have talked, and besides the one bullet through her heart she had not otherwise been maltreated, so the kidnapper cared for her, but she couldn't be left alive, she could identify the one who had done it. That bullet was either to put her out of her misery or to cover their tracks when they couldn't make her give up the code to the safe, a code she had never known. She had not been kidnapped, beaten, and immediately killed last Saturday once the ransom wasn't delivered on time. The bereaved husband was lying! Sherlock had been so excited he had jumped up out of his seat and grabbed John by the shoulders "John you are brilliant! That solves the case! It's so obvious!"

Having long since gotten used to Sherlocks' mad dashes off, he pulled out the takeaway hot cup he'd taken to keeping on the tray and poured in Sherlocks' just delivered order. Handing it off as Sherlock shoved a random few bills from his wallet into his hand and John also passed him a folded pastry bag before he ran for the door in glee to tell Lestrade. There was a bacon, lettuce, tomato and cheese sandwich on eggy bread with packets of mayo and mustard inside, ready for when he wanted it. "Case is done, eat something, you've earned it."

It was the only time Sherlock had given in when someone had told him to eat. An hour later as he sat in Lestrade's office completely ignoring the paperwork Lestrade was trying to make him do and eating the sandwich, he wished that it had been John's shop, and not Speedy's that was below his flat. John's food was so much more to his tastes, and the man really knew how to make a wonderful cuppa.

John chuckled as he'd seen that Sherlock had shoved a hundred pounds into his hand, again. The man's tab was set for the next couple of months at this point, he'd been keeping it in a jar in the safe, taking out what was needed and leaving the change. Sherlock was one of his favorite regulars, always dashing about on some mad adventure. Part of John wished he could join him, but that chapter of his life was over, he didn't need excitement to make him happy, or so he kept telling himself. Maybe one day, he'd believe himself.

Half past noon and it was a quiet lunchtime for any cafe. Only ten people. He knew why and it angered him, he didn't think any business that had to resort to such things had any business being open. He chased off the crowd of delinquents standing a door down on either side of his shop, scaring off the customers, and bringing down sales considerably. This time he really scared them, he walked out with a digital camera, took their pictures and made sure they saw him do it. They immediately took off, trying to hide their faces, but he had them on camera. John smirked and resumed working.

Jim and Sebastian came in for tea time, a medium pot of Earl Grey with lemon for Jim, and the strong, full bodied Kenyan high roast coffee for Sebastian. John smiled as he set down the tea service; a cup of the house made chicken noodle soup each, with a slice of toasted cheddar baguette, a large plate of five different finger sandwiches, two small spinach, bacon, and cheese quiches, a medium sized plate of sliced fruits and cheeses with custard and yogurts, and hot blackberry scones with clotted cream and marmalade for them to share. Jim inhaled the tea's aroma before taking a sip and smiling.

"A peaceful bit of Heaven in a chaotic and hectic world. Thank you John."

"You're more than welcome. Let me know if you need a refill or anything else."

Sebastian and John got on like two peas in a pod, both former military, Royal Marines at that, both doctors, but Sebastian had been a black ops sniper whereas he'd been a combat surgeon and commando. They still never ran out of things to talk about, there was that camaraderie that came with having a similar background, understanding where someone was coming from, and the things they had seen. Jim always smiled when the two of them got to talking, he was a small, very wealthy looking business man with an Irish burr to his tone and a fondness for very expensive bespoke suits, but he was always polite and very generous with his smile. He and Sebastian seemed to be lovers, though John couldn't say for sure, they got on well and Jim was always talking about business dealings they had going on all around the world, China and France, Hungary, Switzerland, Columbia, Russia, the Cayman Islands, The Americas, Greece, always waiting for deliveries to arrive, or people to call in, or another client requesting a special order. He wondered if Jim owned a shipping business of some kind, whatever he did, it paid well. Jim was a charming sort of fellow who always smiled like he had a secret. It had always been slightly off putting, like it was with most career business men because it was hard to tell when the smiles or sentiments were real and when it was just a show in order to get you to sign your soul away without knowing it. Something in his gut told him Jim could be very dangerous if he ever decided to be, but his smiles towards John were always genuine and they reached his eyes. For some reason that always assured John that he was safe enough, Jim liked him, and therefore he had nothing to worry about.

It was around seven and the paperwork was finally finished, (but not by him), so Sherlock grabbed Lestrade and insisted they go out for drinks to celebrate. Since Lestrade had yet to give up on him 'becoming more social' he had startled the Detective Inspector half to death six months ago when he had accepted the regular offer to get a drink after the conclusion of their latest case. Lestrade really should have been more clear that he had been expecting to go to a pub and get alcohol, not be dragged into John's little shop and be treated to, in Sherlock's very knowledgeable experience, the best cafe in London. It had all turned out for the best though, now Lestrade could oft be found several mornings a week tucked into one of the window seats, doing some people watching as he sipped his large vanilla espresso and ate his breakfast, even getting drinks to go for most of his team a couple times a week. It was also quickly becoming a tradition for him and Sherlock to wind up there after cases, and this was no exception.

"Nice to see you again Detective Inspector, Sherlock. It's rare to see you both twice in a single day, it must have been a good one then."

"Hello John. Honestly, I'm not on duty, you can call me Greg, and yes, it was a very good day."

They sat in their preferred booth and perused the menu on the table, Sherlock had all of the regular menu memorized as well as the drinks menu, but was carefully looking over the seasonal fall/winter insert.

Seasonal Drinks:

Seasonal house favorite: Cocoffee with several flavors available: regular, peppermint, toffee, vanilla, caramel, cinnamon, gingerbread, triple chocolate, Bailies Irish Cream, brandy, or rum. Comes with your choice of either whipped cream, marshmallows, or marshmallow fluff on top.

Mulled wine

Traditional hard cider or wine Wassail with apple, orange, and spices.

Spiced mulled apple cider, plain or with your choice of brandy, rum, or whiskey.

Hot Holiday Punch: Apple, Cranberry, and Pear cider mulled with orange slices and spices.

Hot Toddy

Apple ginger tea with cinnamon honey.

Soups and Salads:

Watercress and beet root salad with a ginger sesame dressing

Seafood salad- crab, haddock, and sole served over romaine, baby spinach, and kale, with a lemon basil dressing

Turkey salad- Tender brined turkey breast over romaine and red lettuce with cranberries and roasted walnuts, and served with a Dijon mustard dressing.

Seafood chowder- Our take on a Cullen Skink. Smoked haddock, scallops, and clams with onions and potatoes in a delicious cream broth. Served with fresh brown bread.

Chili- a rich meaty chili with beans, onions, and tomatoes slow cooked for four hours in our special blend of spices

Butternut squash soup- Roasted butternut squash blended with fresh cream, butter, and seasoned with saffron, cumin, and white pepper.

Our hearty seasonal soups can also be served in a bread bowl, your choice of beef stew, seafood chowder, chicken and dumpling, butternut squash, chili, or vegetable. Bread choices are white, brown, rye, oat, or sourdough.

Appetizers:

Root Vegetable Medley- lightly sauteed cubes of potato, burdock, carrots, parsnips, rutabaga, onion, and baby turnips in a rich and flavorful vegetable herb stock, served with fresh baked bread.

Three cheese fonduta: fresh Mozzarella, Parmesan, and Romano cheeses, baked to bubbling and served with sliced baguette.

Stuffed mushrooms- Mushroom button caps stuffed with marinated artichoke hearts and baked with fresh cheese.

Fresh Crab cakes- Three made from scratch crab cakes using fresh lump crab and our own blend of seasonings.

Seafood sampler. Why try and decide between your favorites? Choose any three to five smaller portioned classics as your starter: fried clams, calamari, scallops, crab cake, shrimp cocktail, oysters on the half shell, steamed mussels, or seafood chowder. You can include a fillet of baked or fried Dover sole for an additional charge.

Entree's:

Squash, zucchini, and peppers medley over angel hair pasta, served with sauteed mushrooms, jacket potato and bread.

Fish and chips- Fresh Dover sole fillets with cut to order chips. Served with tartar sauce and choice of soup or salad.
Holiday sub. Slow roasted turkey served hot, and loaded with stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and turkey gravy. served with coleslaw, and a choice of side.

Mushroom risotto- tender risotto with white button and portobello mushrooms. Simple and delicious.

Autumn Casserole- A robust blend of flavorful seasonal vegetables, chicken, and potatoes in a light cream sauce, covered in melted cheese.

Meat and Veg- Roasted and seasoned spaghetti squash 'noodles' with either pork chops, lamb chops, baked sole, or chicken breast, served with choice of vegetable, potato, and a cup of soup or salad.

Cornish game hen stuffed with mushroom risotto, served with steamed vegetables and our sweet potato side.

6 or 8 oz flank steak with our roasted butternut squash and sweet potato seasonal side, served with green beans and soup or salad.

Five course Holiday feast. Start off with your choice of seasonal or daily soup and a fresh crisp salad followed by an entree of three thick slices of slow roasted turkey, (white and dark meat both available) and glazed ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and green bean casserole, comes with turkey gravy, cranberry sauce, and a bread basket. All this is followed with one of our desserts and an after dinner drink to finish your feast. Vegetarian friendly options are also available upon request.

Desserts:
pumpkin pie cheesecake. A seasonal favorite! Thick freshly made pumpkin pie cheesecake on a cinnamon graham cracker crust with gingerbread crumbles on top.

gingerbread loaves, biscuits, or gingerbread men

Individually sized mincemeat, pumpkin, apple, or autumn medley pies,

spice cake with homemade icing. Available with or without rum.

fruit and nut cake. Apples, pears, oranges, currants, and cranberries mixed with chopped walnuts, almonds, and chestnuts in a moist rum soaked spice cake

spiced pear and apple cobbler

fresh baked pumpkin bread topped with pumpkin seeds.

Pie parfaits. Fresh marscapone cream custard, layered with crushed graham crackers and either apple or pumpkin pie filling. Served in a parfait glass and topped with whipped cream and a gingerbread biscuit.

All seasonal desserts and bakery items are available whole to take home for your own holiday special occasion.

Sherlock thought they all sounded good, but the cocoffee sounded very interesting.

"So John, this seasonal house favorite of yours, is it a mocha with added toppings?"

"Not exactly, but you're close. Want to give it a try?"

The wicked tone convinced him, John was obviously proud of the drink, which made him want to try it even more.

"Alright, make me your favorite flavor of Cocoffee, alcohol is fine if you like. Lestrade?"

"I'll try it too, toffee flavored."

John grinned. "Coming right up."

They watched as John wheeled out a tea trolley with all of the ingredients and two large mugs a few minutes later. He measured out a double shot of fresh espresso into each mug, added a shot and a half of Bailies to one and powdered butter toffee to the other, and then filled the mugs with the thickest hot chocolate Sherlock had ever seen. The mugs were topped with marshmallow fluff, the spoons were dipped into a small fondue pot of warm dark chocolate ganache then drizzled over top and added to the mugs. The tops were dusted with cocoa powder for his, and more crushed toffee for Lestrade's, and finally a crunchy chocolate chip biscuit was set into the marshmallow fluff and the drinks were set before them. He hadn't even tasted it yet and Sherlock already knew he was going to love it. He wasn't disappointed. The flavors blended wonderfully, a fantastic hot chocolate and marshmallow taste with that rich underlying flavor of well brewed coffee, and the Irish cream added just enough of a kick without being overpowering. There was even a hint of butter flavor coming from somewhere. By the way Lestrade seemed to be trying to maintain his composure and not propose immediately to either John or his drink, he concluded the Detective Inspector was enjoying his drink just as much.

"Oh, John, you've outdone yourself, I can see why it's your favorite." Sherlock purred happily, and taking another sip.

"I actually don't have a favorite Cocoffee flavor, I love them all, but it seemed to me that you would enjoy that one the most. I'm glad you like it."

"Very much. Though I'm wondering where that hint of butter flavor is coming from, the marshmallow whip?"

John smiled. "You really don't miss anything do you? It's from the cocoa, my grans' recipe uses a little dab of butter in it, and I just can't imagine making it any other way." He set a tray of biscuits and toast down, along with a little dish of small chocolate candies. "My newest items, white and dark chocolate covered espresso beans, and earl grey tea truffles. Tell me if you like them."

The bell over the door rang and John went to greet his newest customer and seat them.

"I can't understand how he doesn't have a million more customers." Lestrade commented absently. "He's got some of the best stuff in town, has new promotional and seasonal items every month or so, he's attentive, polite, the store is always spotless, and to tell you the truth I would pay a lot more than what he asks for, I just don't get it why it's always dead in here."

"I don't get it either. The location isn't hidden, The sign is visible and welcoming, it's near a main thoroughfare, and only a block away from the tube station. I wonder how he advertises. Have you told the people at the Yard? People are far more likely to go to a place a friend has suggested or rates highly, than one recommended by a stranger."

"Honestly no, I haven't. I bring them drinks they always gush over but I haven't told them where it is I get them. It's always so peaceful here, I guess I didn't want to have to worry about running into people from work when I wasn't there, but that's not very fair to John. Small businesses have a hard enough time staying open as it is. Maybe I can get some word of mouth going, bring a group around every week or so, team meeting or some such, Sally is always vocal about the places she likes."

"Wouldn't hurt to bring a few people who aren't on the force as well, contacts, informants, a safe public place where they would feel secure in confiding in you without feeling trapped. My homeless network could keep this place busy open to close, but I doubt they would project the right image to keep other people coming through the door, though there is nothing preventing me from ordering things to hand out to them. Hot drinks make good compensation, especially with winter coming on again. I could bring Mrs. Hudson and she'll bring Mrs. Turner, and then before you know it all of their friends will decide this is the best place to come. She has a taste for quality, and likes returning to places that treat her well. I also think she would adore John."

"It would be very hard not to like John," Lestrade agreed "he's sincere, kind, and has a soothing presence, makes you feel like nothing can hurt you while he's around, though I don't know why that is."

"He's a soldier and a doctor, of course you'd feel safe around him, he's doubly trained to keep people alive and out of harms way."

"He is? Wait, how did you know that?"

"I observe, and he and I have talked several times. He was a combat surgeon, got shot twice on his last deployment to Afghanistan, received commendations, moved up a rank, then didn't heal up as well as he'd hoped, was invalided out, couldn't continue as a surgeon, and opened this place with his limited pension money. He lives in a studio apartment upstairs if I'm not mistaken, and I know I'm not."

"That's why he's always here when I am, I wonder if he ever takes a day off."

"Not likely, no. Small business owners rarely do, especially without enough staff to take over. Aside from the morning and evening chefs he only has three other workers, the blond girl on the weekday mornings, the Asian boy on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, then all day during the weekends, and the brunette man who comes in on random evenings. He'd need a staff of at least two more full time employees to cover every shift without him being present daily, and he doesn't make the kind of revenue to justify such an expense, therefore, no days off. He most likely takes half days or afternoons off a few times a week to run errands and such."

"Sounds lonely, and exhausting."

"He must have his reasons."

They stayed for another two hours, ordering more drinks and snacks, talking with John since it was slow, and completely forgetting about the outside world. Soon the store emptied, John topped up their tea cups and laid down a fresh pot before he and his staff cleaned up half of the dining room for the day, pushed five tables together, and loaded the tea trolleys with the day's leftover food: soup, sandwiches, pastries, salads, even some hot boxed lunch items and desserts as well as coffee and tea. They also opened up a side office Sherlock had assumed was a store room for cleaning supplies, and set two chairs against the wall next to it. John came back over with a smile.

"I'm not going to chase you off or anything, but I'm just letting you know I'm going to have a few customers coming in you might not have expected. You're welcome to stay if you want to, but I have to ask that you ignore them, they tend to not trust strangers and can get jumpy if they think you are staring at them."

Curiosity piqued, Sherlock merely nodded politely, but asking him to ignore anything was tantamount to telling someone to try to ignore the sun shining directly in their face. The lights were dimmed, and John emerged from the back and went into the side office in a familiar white coat, a stethoscope around his neck.

"Is he doing what I think he's doing?" Sherlock questioned in surprise.

"Considering I have no idea what that might be, why are you asking me?" Lestrade responded, now also becoming curious.

"Oh come on Lestrade not even you can be that blind! Look! Leftover food, an office that isn't opened until after closing time, the staff are all college students! Of course, it's so obvious, you can take away a surgeon's tools, but that doesn't mean he's not still a doctor."

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"Even the invisible need medical attention, Lestrade, most times they need it worse than the visible ones, only many times by the time they really need it, they can't even ask anymore. He's made it so they don't have to. His hands may not be able to hold a scalpel anymore, but he's no less a doctor. He probably couldn't find hospital work that would take him on once he got back from Afghanistan, not with his leg and shoulder and PTSD, and he's severely overqualified for locum work, so they wouldn't want to hire him because it would make them feel inferior, or maybe they didn't have the budget to pay him enough. But he still wants to help people, so he helps whoever wants him to."

It was right then that the first person came through the door, a man who could have once been very large, dressed in several layers of dirty, discarded t-shirts. Lestrade finally got it. John donated what was left at the end of each day to the homeless, business wise he got to write it off as charity instead of just throwing it out, and he opened a small free clinic, with medical undergraduates interning as assistants to him, getting practice with the basics of locum work, under a veteran doctor's watchful eye, and getting paid hours as servers in the restaurant without having to commute or work around the doctor's schedule.

"Is it even legal for him to do that?" Lestrade questioned.

"Letting student interns assist a veteran doctor in his own practice? Of course it is, why wouldn't it be? I'm more concerned however about the detective inspector asking the civilian consulting detective about what is and isn't against the law."

"I meant running a medical clinic out of a restaurant."

"Multipurpose usage license, and you'll notice he isn't running both at the same time, and that the clinic is technically separate."

The homeless began shuffling in, nearly all of them men, Sherlock of course observed that they were all former military because they all had a certain look to them. They got some food and hot tea or coffee, then sat down to eat, a few eyed the little door that John had gone into, as though working up the courage to go in. The tenth ones to come in was an older man carrying a much younger girl, probably about five to seven, and she was sobbing. The man looked scared to even be inside and kept looking around nervously. The staff ushered them straight into John's office, the female waitress turned assistant following close behind. The man began shouting once the door was closed, but there was no harsh reply. Lestrade was getting worried once silence fell in the office, but the female assistant emerged a few minutes later, carrying the girl in her arms wrapped in a blanket, along with a file of paperwork and talking on her cell phone rapidly as she dashed out the door to hail a cab. John came out with the man, who was the one crying this time. John set him in a chair and set the soup and coffee and bread in front of him.

"You did the right thing, she'll be alright, I promise. I have several friends in the department, she won't fall through the cracks. Trust me, this is only a temporary measure unless you decide otherwise, and you'll still be allowed to visit. Once you are back on your feet and able to take care of her and yourself then you'll be able to get her back, and until then she'll be a lot safer than on the street, especially with winter coming. Kids like her get snatched up and put into worse things than you ever want to imagine, you are lucky to have kept her safe for as long as you did. It's going to be alright, you aren't a bad parent, in fact this just proves that you're a good one."

Sherlock set down his tea and leaned back.

"She needed surgery, probably appendicitis from how she was holding her stomach and her age. Child Services would have forcibly taken her away after the surgery once they found out she was living on the streets with her homeless guardian, probably permanently. John got him to sign over emergency temporary custody so they wouldn't be slowed down with paperwork on the hospital's end and possibly reduce her chances of survival. John or his assistant is probably also a notary. Closest hospital is only six blocks away, they should definitely get to her in time." He said quietly for Lestrade's benefit.

It was a very small group of people who came to John after hours, about twenty-five at most, mainly because it was late and beds at the shelters filled up rather early in the colder months. Several others who didn't seek the shelters were already asleep wherever they could curl up for the night, or wandering the streets believing it to be safer to sleep during the day. It was long past hours for soup kitchens to be open, and it was obvious that John's shop wasn't making more food, just giving whatever they had left. John wasn't a rich man, in fact it was probably hard for him to stay open at all with how little business he did, but he still cared enough to try to help whoever he could with whatever he had.

Lestrade felt rather warm inside just knowing a man like John, it renewed his faith in humanity a bit after being exposed to such an ugly side of it with what he did for a living. Sherlock had a strange little look on his face, one might almost mistake it for fondness if one wasn't talking about Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade knew that he himself was the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes had, somewhere on an invisible fluctuating level between Benign Disdain, and Tolerable Idiot. But the look on the man's face right now as he looked at John, had all the classic signs and subtleties of a five year old wanting to help someone with a push on the swings or give them a boost onto the climbing frame just to have an excuse to say something to them or get closer to them. Sherlock Holmes was interested in another person, and that's something that just doesn't happen.

One of the homeless people eventually noticed Sherlock and stood near the boundary of the lobby and dining room once he had finished his food. Sherlock gestured him over. "Spare change?" the man asked.

"Don't mind if I do." Sherlock replied.

The man dug into his pocket and set down a small box and a slip of paper and Sherlock handed him a stack of five pound notes and a letter.

"Same address, stay there two more days, text me when they come back, and leave the letter on the doorknob."

The man nodded and shuffled away again and back out onto the street.

"One of yours I take it."

"Obviously."

"You told him to text you."

"Yes, I purchase boxes of lost mobiles from Heathrow in bulk every month, wipe the memory clean, and also have a deal with an electronics recycling company for the chargers. I then give them and a phone card out to my network. They take out the sim cards when they aren't in use, in case they get stolen, but also so they can sell the phones if they have to, it's not like I can't get them another one, I have two full boxes at home."

Lestrade shook his head, wryly imagining an army of homeless armed with blackberry's, texting national and private secrets to their leader who was meticulously taking over the world.

Two hours later the food was gone, the clinic shut down, his two remaining staff members hoovered, wiped down tables and seats and collected their dishes along with the rest of the items going back to the kitchens. John emerged from the office and took off his lab coat to be put with the outgoing bag of linens near the door to be cleaned and sterilized.

He smiled at them. "I'm surprised you two have stayed this long, won't your families be worried about you? It's nearly eleven."

Lestrade gave a fond chuckle and shake of his head, and Sherlock glanced at John as if perhaps he had lost his mind.

"The only one who might notice my absence is my landlady, but she is very used to me being gone at all hours for work, so it would be several days if not weeks before she began to worry. My nosy brother and his tediously infinite spy network on the other hand tails my every move through the CCTV, so he of course knows exactly where I am, and other than that, I do not have friends."

"Present company excluded of course?"John queried with a definite hint.

Sherlock's brow wrinkled. "How do you mean?"

Lestrade just shook his head. "John, don't bother, seriously, he's not going to get it. Social conventions are beneath him and he did mean it. I'm currently the preventer of boredom, tolerated to a higher degree than most, and this is a step up from the masses, heck we are participating in a social activity together, that's practically unheard of, so let's not ruin the moment. As for me, my wife was very used to the fact I live on a 24 hour schedule, but the loneliness got to her and she cheated on me, finally left last year and took the kids with her. We're in the middle of divorce proceedings now. She'll probably win full custody with my schedule being so erratic and my job being so dangerous, I can't say that I blame her really, but I miss my kids."

"Sounds lonely, for both of you."

"This coming from the man who completely buries himself in his work so that he doesn't have to try to maintain a social life with civilian people he can no longer relate to, and also has a legitimate ready at hand excuse to avoid his sibling. I believe that is called 'hypocrisy' John."

Instead of being insulted, John merely smiled. "You know it really is brilliant how you do that. Though if you had to deal with Harry, you'd do everything you could to not be available either."

Sherlock got a wicked look on his face. "I'll trade you siblings any day of the week John. My brother takes 'meddlesome' to a level that didn't exist until he invented it himself. I call it 'Mycroftian'. He took the idea of Big Brother from the book '1984' not as a warning, but as a brilliantly theorized reference guide that he then tried to expand upon and perfect the idea of. He's probably got this place bugged, wired, and under 24 hour surveillance just because I come here so often. Honestly I'm surprised he hasn't kidnapped you yet and offered you money to spy on me."

"Oh now Sherlock, surely you're exaggerating-"

Lestrade shook his head. "No mate, he's serious. Mycroft is terrifying. I had known Sherlock for over a year and I didn't even know anything about the man's existence until he kidnapped me the first time I let Sherlock in on a case. He knew everything about my entire life, my family, even all of my girlfriends from back in 2nd form. Told me not to let Sherlock get in over his head or let anything happen to him while under my watch or else. Frankly I am rather shocked he hasn't given you the standard kidnapping and 5th degree treatment too."

"Did you say Mycroft? As in early 40's, expensive suits, receding hairline, slight paunch, drop dead gorgeous assistant, and wields an umbrella like it could easily become a weaponized walking stick? THAT Mycroft?"

"Ah so you have been kidnapped, good. If he breaks his pattern too much it makes me worry what he's up to. Odd though, he usually doesn't give out his name. Please tell me you accepted the money and didn't turn it down out of some preconceived notion of honor or respect or whatever noble reason tried to take over your senses, it's not like you could tell him anything he could use against me anyways, and I'm sure you have bills to pay. Besides I like wringing him out of every penny he has, the bastard deserves it."

"No Sherlock, I was never kidnapped, he comes in here about six days a week on average, at 7 sharp, even if it's just a takeaway order. He's always been very polite, but I had no idea you were related, in fact he's never even mentioned you. The most personal thing he's ever said about himself was that he's a clerk to the minister's undersecretary. Until you said his name I wouldn't have connected it otherwise, 'Holmes' is a rather common last name after all."

Lestrade and Sherlock shared a Look. Sherlock's movements were always tailed to a degree, so why would Mycroft not have confronted John yet? Repeated contacts were always sized up, it was just the way of things, and now Mycroft was messing with the system, disturbing the proper order of the universe, and it was throwing him off.

"Must have been John's cooking, and the tea, he comes in here every time to do just what he's always done, but John is always providing a diversion. I know I've come in a few times bent on murder and property destruction when I get to work, but I'm never able to leave that way. Besides, your brother is a hedonist even if he tries to hide it, of course John's food provides the perfect distraction, he's even got you eating regular, and I was convinced for years that you were surviving on air, cigarettes, tea, and random pieces of toast every few days."

"John's food is worth eating, but I doubt it is that alone. I'll have to figure out whatever else he may be up to. Well John it has been lovely but we know that four am comes very early for a business owner, so we'll just settle the bill and be on our way." Sherlock said as he took out his wallet."Oh I'm sorry, I hope you weren't staying around just for that! Your bill has already been settled, hours ago when we shut the cafe down. You gave me a hundred pounds when you were here earlier, I settled it out of that. Whenever you're off in a mad dash you don't seem to pay attention to the notes you put in my hand when you're already halfway out the door. You're covered for a good half a year with how often you do it." Sherlock frowned and turned to Lestrade "You told me it was customary to tip generously when you especially like the food or service at a restaurant." He said accusingly.

"It is, in The United States. Which you asked me about for that case with the dead American who paid too much at the restaurant. And people don't normally leave nearly twenty times the amount of the bill Sherlock." Lestrade replied with an eye roll.

"Tedious." He said taking five twenty pound notes from his wallet and standing up to face John as he put on his coat and scarf. "Whatever amount you are still holding onto in your safe I want you to regard as tips. I said I like giving away as much of my brother's money as possible so he can't rule me with it and I meant it. You might as well spend it, because I want you to stay around for a very long time and I will not stop doing exactly as I have done. This place quiets my mind John, I find peace here, and I enjoy your company. There's no greater compliment I can give than that." And with that he placed the money in John's hand, deliberately kissed John on the cheek, and made for the door with a hand raised in farewell and a call of "Evening!"John stood there stunned for a moment just clutching the bills in his hand and trying to process the fact a living whirlwind had just kissed him.

"Known him for nearly ten years now, and I can honestly say that's the only kind and considerate thing he's ever said to anybody that wasn't complete shite because he was after something. Congrats mate, I think you've just proved that Sherlock Holmes has a heart in there somewhere. Never thought I'd see the day he'd show it. Ta." John barely managed to nod towards Lestrade as he left, but afterwards he sat down in the chair Sherlock had occupied. It took him another minute or so to see that Lestrade had left twenty-five pounds on the table and he realized they had been going to split the check. For some reason that made him laugh. He had been fond of Sherlock for awhile now, it was rather nice to know the man liked him too. He gathered the money, went and locked the door, set the alarm, turned off all but two lights, and then went to wipe down the table and chairs. There was a small notepad and biro Lestrade had forgotten on the table. It was open to a page.

director's secretary, Sally, Dimmock, Stuart in IT, Michael in booking, Terrence, Madeline
other divisions, other offices, local force, paramedics
rookies and interns on coffee runs
staff meeting
office catering
contacts and informants
word of mouth?
website?
advertising?

It looked like he was planning a party or something. Well he should be by in the next couple of days or so, he could return it then. John made sure everything was neat, in place, and ready for tomorrow, the cooler had all doughs prepped and ready on trays, chicken and beef marinating in their stocks in the fridge, vegetables clean and prepped, dairy still fresh. The pantry was organized and taken stock of, and the list of items to order was made, then printed up three new recipes he wanted the chefs to make for testing purposes.

John liked the order and control of running a business, and a restaurant was one of the more challenging businesses one could do. It made him feel like his life was in control too. He'd be running the books tomorrow, and he had a feeling the near two thousand pounds Sherlock had built up in the safe was going to come in very handy.

He walked the perimeter one last time before turning out the rest of the downstairs lights, and moved the floating shelves near the pantry that hid the entrance to the office and the staircase to his own quarters which was behind another door on the far side. There were actually three safes, the first a tall slender black and red one with a combination lock standing in plain sight and bolted firmly into the foundation. It was where he kept the register drawer, some daily change, ledger, weekly paperwork and receipts, and had a strong box at the bottom for deposits, and that's where everyone thought he kept the money until it made it to the bank, he'd even make mid day deposits in there because it was a good place to keep extra cash and large bills until closing time. The second safe he'd had professionally installed in the wall, off to the side of the desk behind a modest picture of a beautiful beach view at sunset. That's where he actually kept the deposits, weekly change, Sherlock's over payments, and the chequebook. He put the money Sherlock and Lestrade had given him into it and then gradually made his way up the stairs to his flat.

No one knew about the third safe. It was mounted in the wall at the top of the stairwell behind the display of his medals. It's where he kept his gun and ammunition, as well as the flash drive and sim card that contained all of the evidence he was collecting against A bientot that was down the street a ways. They were a trendy 'French Fusion' restaurant that had moved in six months ago and had already run the French bistro that had been next door to them out of business, then bought out and expanded into the space. They had horrible business practices, and they made very little secret of the fact that they were trying to drive out any possible competition in the neighborhood.

He'd gone there once, in uniform so he wouldn't be recognized, to check them out after they took over the bistro. The manager was a severe looking individual who obviously had his workers afraid to draw his attention to them, he hadn't seen the owner or met the chefs, but the food was overpriced for what it was, and all of the meat dishes were either cut into small pieces, or breaded and deep fried, and most were completely smothered in gravy or heavy sauces, a sure sign of cheap ingredients and low quality meats, and usually poor or terrible kitchen standards.

He'd picked out every trick in the book on how to cut costs and maximize profit in ways the public generally wouldn't pick up on. Minimal wait staff, soups were thinned out, glasses were loaded to the tops with crushed ice and cost fifty cents more, prices were hiked up because everything had a fancy French sounding name, small 'haute coture' portions that cost double something two or three times as large at his place but cost a tenth the amount to make. They also kept grocers expenses down because most of the dishes had the same common or inexpensive ingredients, and every entree came with an endless bread basket and generous serving of either their 'world famous whipped potatoes' or their 'signature rice dish', in order to make you feel full from the carbs, and were two of the cheapest ingredients for a restaurant to order in bulk. The potatoes were basic instant mashed potatoes with extra water to give it the whipped texture they wanted, then mixed with garlic butter and colored with paprika, and piped onto the plate to make it look fancy. The rice was basic lemon butter and rosemary pilaf with some yellow coloring added to make it have the look of expensive saffron rice. The presentation was nice but he couldn't say he was very impressed with the food when all was said and done with. The actual French bistro that had been next door to them before had been leaps and bounds better in taste, quality, and value, and the young couple who had run it had been very nice.

Now it looked like they were focusing on him, and were even starting to get more aggressive with their posturing. But John wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't afraid, at least not for himself, he was more concerned with the safety of his employees and his customers. He'd been on deployment in the army almost since he finished med school, he'd invaded Afghanistan, taken out a never ending parade of hostiles that were bent on killing him or taking him hostage because he was a doctor on the front lines. He had performed abdominal surgery and a leg amputation on the floor of a helicopter on a nineteen year old kid they were trying to transport to Camp Bastion after he had stepped on an IED, he'd held the hands of countrymen as they bled out in his arms, and always fulfilled their last requests when he told their loved ones face to face what their soldiers last words had been whenever he returned to England on leave. He'd survived a helicopter crash unharmed into extremely hostile territory after the rotor was taken out by a surface to air missile, and had gotten the gear and two injured survivors out, one of which was his commanding officer who he had carried on his back for a total of three kilometers until they finally found shelter in a cave where they had to wait for two days on limited provisions until they could be rescued. He'd taken out a group of ten Taliban by himself in order to protect them when they had been discovered by a patrol, and used the dead men's clothes as bandages and disguises in order to make it to the extraction point alive. Both men had lived. He had survived through two miracle shots that should have killed him and the complete loss of the life he thought he would stay in for at least fifteen more years. A pushy restaurant could not scare him.

His home consisted of a combined bedroom and living room with a kitchenette divided off by the built in table, a bathroom with the washer and dryer tucked away in a cupboard at one end, and a small closet that he had converted entirely into a library area for his books. It was small, and lonely, but it was his, utterly his, and he felt safe here

The next day he woke to find the entire front of his shop spray painted with graffiti, and spent the morning scrubbing it off the walls with solvent and scraping it off the windows with a razor after he recorded it with his camera. Mycroft was quite displeased with the defacement when he saw it, and told John not to worry, he'd help track down the responsible party. John appreciated the sentiment but doubted what a government clerk could do about it. By lunch he was repainting the outside with a highly expensive paint that wouldn't allow spray paint to stick to it.

It was two weeks later at lunch time and he actually had a pretty decent crowd going, Business had been picking up steadily, to the point he wasn't worried about the books balancing at the end of the week, and he even had a few new regulars, and probably another new one which Sherlock had brought in just minutes ago.

"John Watson, do you prefer to be addressed as 'Captain' or 'Doctor', John? I'd like for you to meet Mrs. Martha Hudson. One of the finest women I have ever met."

"Either is fine, but I think 'John' will suffice if you like."

"Oh it's good to finally meet you Doctor Watson, I was beginning to think Sherlock had invented you!"

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock has spoken of you very fondly."

"I have?" the detective asked, perplexed.

"Yes, of course you have, 'The only one who would notice or care if you disappeared', 'makes a fine cup of tea', 'Enjoys the violin,' 'nerves of steel', 'valuable informant on a number of subjects I have long since deleted', and dozens of others. Considering how you usually describe people as nothing more than 'boring', 'tedious', 'obvious', and 'predictable', that is high praise indeed."

"You continuously surprise me Doctor."

"Why because I've actually listened to what you've been saying?"

"Well, yes."

John just rolled his eyes and led them to their table.

.-.-.-.-.

It was just beginning to think about becoming summer, middle of the week at the tail end of the lunch rush, and John was discussing a new seasonal menu with his head chef, when the brick slammed through the window shattering the glass over two customers and striking two more, one of Mrs. Hudson's bridge club in the shoulder, and the other was Sebastian Moran in the leg. Sherlock was up and dashing out the busted window not even half a second later. "Come on John!' sounded like a battle cry through his mind, and John was only steps behind, Lestrade already on his mobile phoning in the incident. The glass was a mere nuisance as he dashed out the door and down the street after the assailants, Sebastian only steps behind them, charging like an enraged and murderous bull. The four teens had no idea of the wrath they had unleashed and stood no chance against two royal marines and the world's most persistent detective. Two were taken down within seconds and Sherlock stayed behind to watch them until Lestrade arrived, as Moran and John went after the other two and split up when the teens did. Six blocks, two walls and a private garden later, and John Watson tackled the teen so hard into the ground the boy had the wind completely knocked out of him. There was fear in the kid's eyes when John's arm slid around his throat and his 'Captain Watson' voice came straight through, filled with threat and anger and command.

"I can break and dislocate your leg in less than three seconds in a way that it will NEVER heal properly, and know exactly how to snap your spine so that you will never do anything more than suck your meals through a straw for the rest of your life. You so much as twitch wrong and I will have no qualms about doing so and blaming it solely on my documented Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and I am damned sure I will get away with it because you just struck an old woman with a brick in front of four police officers, a detective inspector, two CCTV cameras, and the world's best private detective. There won't be a jury in the world they can't convince that I did nothing more than squish a cockroach on the other side of town no matter what you say. Do you understand me?"

"Yes! Fucking bastards never said a fucking thing about any fucking cops!"

He called Lestrade, who directed the police cars to his and then Moran's location. Moran was just sitting smugly on the small of the back of the one he'd pinned face down on the grass in a nearby park, idly picking dirt out from under his nails until the cops showed up, and looking like a guard dog who had neutralized the intruder by simply squashing him into the ground, and was just waiting to be praised and patted on the head for a job well done.

John and Moran shook hands, it wasn't nearly the same as what they used to chase down and neutralize, but the rush was almost the same, and the reaction was the exact same: react when attacked, assess threat, neutralize threat. They both understood it all too well.

"Those Chavs were damn lucky." Moran growled.

"That we weren't armed?" John murmured, thinking the same thing and realizing just how badly that could have turned out.

"Yeah, think about it. I mean we could have killed them either way, but you would really have to think about it for a minute without a weapon, and rational doesn't go for the kill first off unless directly threatened. A knife, I'd probably have only gone to injure, especially if they didn't fight back, but if I'd had a gun... I had clear shots except when we were jumping fences and for those first few minutes, the sound of the glass busting and the bricks crashing through windows... that snapped me back into a memory so powerful I can still taste the dust and gunpowder in my mouth and the lamb the woman was cooking... that first minute we were running, those weren't stupid kids running down the street, they were enemies. No wonder they take our toys away when we come home."

John nodded but his silence and probably his expression, was very telling. Sebastian nudged his shoulder a moment later.

"It's alright, I have one too. Can't sleep otherwise. I won't tell if you won't."

John nodded again and they headed back to the restaurant. The ambulance was still there, and Lestrade had the matter well in hand. Surprisingly, Sherlock had taken on the task of keeping the customers happy and was directing the staff even though John would have thought that food service would have stopped entirely, but he had merely reorganized people in the affected areas into other available seating. Mycroft had shown up as well and was directing a cleanup team to finish documenting the evidence and clear up the mess. A repair man was also there removing the old windows and replacing them with new ones.

"Mycroft? What is all this?"

"Shatter resistant glass. It has a protective film on both sides so that such a thing cannot happen again. It can withstand tornadoes and hurricanes, bricks should be no issue. It's a gift of course, nothing to concern yourself with."

"Not concern myself- Mycroft this is my business! Anything that happens within it is very much my concern!"

"As is the safety of your customers, and this glass will not only not break over their heads, but will also reduce your insurance premiums for having it. It's free of charge, honestly, why are you protesting this so much?"

John gave up, Mycroft couldn't be reasoned with, it was free, someone else was cleaning up the mess, and he needed a cup of tea. "Come on Sebastian, cup of coffee, and lunch on the house."

"Sounds great, ta."

Sherlock came over, rolling his eyes at Mycroft, and sat down at the table Sebastian, and therefore John, had claimed, which also happened to be where Jim was sitting. The little business man looked Sebastian over, checking his knuckles, and seeing if there were any stains or tears in his suit.

"Honestly, chasing down ruffians while in Armani." He tsked, rubbing at a smudge of dirt on Moran's cheek with a serviette. "You always play so rough Sebby."

Moran grinned. "You like it when I play rough."

Moriarty actually chuckled and then turned to John.

"Well, that was exciting. Might I ask what you might have done to have hooligans throwing bricks through your windows during lunch time?"

So John told them about the other restaurant, and it's habit of making the neighborhood impossible to survive in, and how its favorite method was to drive other restaurants into bankruptcy, or to intimidate them out. What it had done to several other places that hadn't even lasted a month, but that he hadn't started doing anything until it had been the Bistro in A Bientot's sights, and then on the chopping block, and now they were doing the same to him.

"I've lasted longest though, this kind of thing can't scare me, not with what I've seen. That's why they decided to do something like this. If Mycroft wasn't replacing the windows, I'd be closed until it was fixed, or have an ugly set of boards installed until it was, both of which would lose me money and customers. If my insurance covered the damage, I'd still have to cover the deductible first, if not, I'd have to pay out of pocket to get everything replaced. If anyone was injured that would be claims and payouts again, which could cost me even more money, seeing as my insurance premiums would go up. Every move is designed to cost the victim their profits bit by bit, all while losing them customers because they don't feel safe about coming back, which means a loss of revenue, and eventually they go under. Two months ago this would have been the final coffin nail if I hadn't started getting some new customers, because I was that close to the edge, but thanks now to Mycroft, I can rally again without a problem, which scares me about how they are going to retaliate, I don't want anyone getting hurt."

"And you have proof of this?" Sherlock breathed, looking fascinated.

"Well nothing conclusive that directly links them to the issues, nothing that I think could hold up in court, but yeah, I do, hang on." He went and retrieved the evidence he'd been collecting as well as the neighborhood's value, and reports on the levels of crime in the surrounding areas, and the street map with marks and dates on it. "Just two years ago the crime rate in this neighborhood was one quarter what it is today, and it started to rise as soon as A Bientot opened, which could be a coincidence, except see here, each mark on this map is a restaurant that went under, and the date they did, the top number is the date they opened. And it's just the restaurants, all the other businesses are fine, and some of those places had been well established for decades, it's not like anything else has changed, the proof though is that any restaurant that has closed hasn't been replaced with another restaurant, anyone who had tried has been ran out immediately. See this one here on the corner, it had been a popular Indian restaurant that had been here thirty years, it was one of the first to fall, and it has been bought and sold six times since A Bientot opened. Nothing can survive there, except now, the owner of A Bientot, he's putting in a bid for the property so his son can start a business. Of course now, with how bad the reputation of it has become, this prime location is only half of what it was when the Indian restaurant was there. It's an extremely tactical move, almost like chess, drive the neighborhood down into dirt cheap prices, buy it all up, and then be the hero that saves the neighborhood. But they also don't let you know it's them, they are very quiet. I'm sorry Sherlock, I don't know why I didn't think to give you all of this before, you are a detective after all, you probably know exactly how to find that link."

Sherlock grinned, kissed John on the cheek, and grabbed up all of the evidence. "We'll celebrate your recovery as soon as they're in jail John!"

When it was just him sitting with Sebastian and James, he finally saw the dark, fierce look in Jim's eye.

"John, I only need you to say one little thing for me alright? 'Please fix it for me Jim'."

A chill ran through John's back. He'd always known Moriarty could be dangerous, but that look... It was downright terrifying. "A-and what does that mean exactly?"

"That you ask me to help and people stop getting hurt, threatened, and run out of their happy little lives. Life goes back to normal, and most importantly, my favorite restaurant stays open."

"And what is that going to end up costing me?"

"Oh, Johnny-boy, for you, I'll do it for free."

John swallowed and nodded. Jim was a shrewd business man, and right now, he looked like a shark that had scented blood in the water, and perverse of a thought though it was, John was exceedingly glad that it wasn't his.

"Please fix it for me Jim."

Jim's smile was all teeth as he sat back and poured himself another cup of tea. "So Sebby, what do we know about the restaurant business?"

Sebastian snorted. "Nothing. By midnight? Everything."