Colorblind (A Johnlock Fanfiction)

Twenty-Eight; Coral

When they entered, the place was nearly empty except for a few after lunchtime stragglers, and one man looking at a newspaper in a booth. There was a wet umbrella beside him. John had a feeling he was the one Sherlock was supposed to talk to. "Is this another one of your jilted lovers?" John whispered.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and gave John a look of utter and complete mortification.

"No, I'm guessing," John went on, his eyes darting back to the man in the booth. He almost recognized him - he could see the faintest balding pattern, slowly pulling back at his hairline. And his suit was so tailored - definitely not fit for a casual lunch outing on the south side. They walked up to the booth, but the man stopped them with his voice - sniveling, drawn with caution. And underneath that, a familiar bored tone.

Very familiar.

"Have you tried their breakfast toast?" the man asked, without looking up. It sounded as if he was reciting it.

"Of course," Sherlock replied. "Aunt Susan told me that they're the best in town."

"Her brother is getting married on Sunday."

Sherlock sat and took the man's coffee, drinking it. "Her brother is an idiot, then," Sherlock said casually. "Marriage is for optimists and heterosexuals. Both of which have debatable mirth."

"You're deviating from the script," the man said, in a warning tone.

"We're fine," Sherlock replied as he drank the man's coffee. "But great job fitting in."

The man finally put down his newspaper with a flamboyant flourish and looked at Sherlock, indignant. "Your sarcasm is not appreciated."

"Regardless, you are sitting in an empty café, wearing a designer suit," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "Why must you try so hard?"

The man across the table gave Sherlock a sickly sugary smile and John hated it. "I'm compensating for you, brother dear," the man said, voice sickly sweet. Sherlock's entire face twitched with distaste. And John realized who it was.

"My God," he broke in, looking between the both of them. "You're the brother."

Mycroft looked irritated, ignoring John completely. "Why'd you bring your cohort along?"

"He's conducive," was all Sherlock responded.

"Hardly." Mycroft looked to John, with that terrible smile on his features. "May you grab us some food at the counter?"

Sherlock gave John a quick nod, and despite himself, John faked a terse smile. "What would you like?"

"Club turkey sandwich," they said simultaneously. Sherlock's agitation swelled as he glared at his brother, obviously irritated that they were alike in any way. "Dieting was never your strong suit," Sherlock spat.

John, albeit his annoyance, was amused by their rivalry. "Sure," he replied, before getting up and going ten feet away to the counter.

They were terribly indiscreet. "Him?" Mycroft asked, unbelieving. "Sherlock, it's almost self-deprecating."

"You've uttered a total of twelve words to him," Sherlock responded.

"Like I need to say anything at all," Mycroft hissed.

The lady at the desk asked for his order. "Three club turkeys and a tea," John said, smiling.

"You're so arrogant," John heard Sherlock say.

"Rightly so. This man obviously has no skill that appeals to you."

"He's a doctor. A good one."