Read Online Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets by Guy Adams, Kasey Lansdale, Glen Mehn - Free Book Online Page A
Tags: Fiction, detective, Fantasy, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, SF, Anthology, Collections & Anthologies, Anthologies (Multiple Authors), sherlock holmes
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plenty of writing time on their hands were more likely to be able to write their way around a coffee shop than an investment bank or a lawyer’s office. Jane had lost count of the number of fics she’d written on her laptop at Starbucks.
Jane’s own coffee-shop story, a multi-chapter epic titled ‘Where the Barista Knows Your Name,’ was one of her most popular works. She was genuinely proud of it, unlike so much of her other work she’d never quite got around to deleting online. That was the problem with being even mildly internet-famous. All your earliest mistakes stayed around to haunt you.
When Jane was about halfway down the road to the bus-stop home, she stopped as a sudden thought hit her.
Oh, god, she thought, please don’t let Charlotte find the Star Force fic.
Excerpt from ‘Where The Barista Knows Your Name’ (subtitle: ‘And Everything Else About You, Just By Looking At Your Shoes’), Chapter One, published by plainjane on fanfictionhouse.net, category: Literature: Sherlock Holmes: AUs, 12 th July 2014.
Keywords: coffee shop AU, character: Sherlock Holmes, character: John Watson, angst, fluff, John/Sherlock. With thanks to beta readers singlecrow and ladymoonray!–plainjane
T HE NEW BARISTA was getting on John Watson’s nerves. He didn’t smile, he didn’t tell the patrons to ‘have a nice day!’ but the customers loved him. They loved his party trick. John seemed to be the only patron it didn’t impress. “I’ll have my usual; and what does she want?” asked one girl with pink hair and a nose piercing, pushing forward a blonde who smiled and blushed prettily.
The man ( Sherlock Holmes was the name on his tag) studied her, but only for a moment before turning back to the espresso machine. “She’ll have the double espresso Americano—the ink on her hands and the bags under her eyes show she’s been up all night studying for something, probably... some kind of veterinary sciences exam, going by the cat, dog and yes, that is rabbit fur on her clothes.
I’m adding a vanilla caramel shot. She wants a sugar boost, but prefers vanilla notes to citrus or cocoa, judging by her perfume. ”
“He’s good!” The girls giggled in triumph and ran to the end of the bar to await their coffees, making far too much noise, in John’s hungover opinion.
He stared mournfully into his decaff latte. He’d wanted it caffeinated, but he hadn’t wanted to prove the smug barista right. He thinks he knows me , thought John. He’s only just met me.
Well not ‘only just.’ To be fair, they’d been dancing this dance for a whole week now. John would come in every day, first for his morning coffee, and then later, for a tomato mozzarella bagel and lunchtime caffeine hit.
Before Sherlock’s arrival, this had been the best coffee shop within ten minutes of the hospital where John worked.
Until the Battle of the Decaff Latte.
Until John had lied to the barista seven days ago, insisting that he did indeed want decaff, just to wipe the smug grin off the bastard’s face. Oh, the man hadn’t said anything about it at the time, but you could tell it bothered him. They’d barely exchanged any words since, but there had been a battle of wits going on...
On Wednesday, Sherlock the barista had played dirty.
He’d brought over a regular latte to John’s table, with just the right amount of foam, and with one of those plastic-wrapped, caramelised biscuits you get with coffee, that John adored but could never find in the supermarket. John had never seen tables waited at the café in all his years as a customer, but the barista insisted (sir) that wasn’t this his drink (sir) and actually apologised for messing up John’s order, trying to take away John’s decaff and replace it with the regular coffee.
John gritted his teeth as he remembered insisting that no, decaff was exactly what he wanted. He could swear the barista had waved the regular latte (which had smelled amazing) under his nose a few
Jane’s own coffee-shop story, a multi-chapter epic titled ‘Where the Barista Knows Your Name,’ was one of her most popular works. She was genuinely proud of it, unlike so much of her other work she’d never quite got around to deleting online. That was the problem with being even mildly internet-famous. All your earliest mistakes stayed around to haunt you.
When Jane was about halfway down the road to the bus-stop home, she stopped as a sudden thought hit her.
Oh, god, she thought, please don’t let Charlotte find the Star Force fic.
Excerpt from ‘Where The Barista Knows Your Name’ (subtitle: ‘And Everything Else About You, Just By Looking At Your Shoes’), Chapter One, published by plainjane on fanfictionhouse.net, category: Literature: Sherlock Holmes: AUs, 12 th July 2014.
Keywords: coffee shop AU, character: Sherlock Holmes, character: John Watson, angst, fluff, John/Sherlock. With thanks to beta readers singlecrow and ladymoonray!–plainjane
T HE NEW BARISTA was getting on John Watson’s nerves. He didn’t smile, he didn’t tell the patrons to ‘have a nice day!’ but the customers loved him. They loved his party trick. John seemed to be the only patron it didn’t impress. “I’ll have my usual; and what does she want?” asked one girl with pink hair and a nose piercing, pushing forward a blonde who smiled and blushed prettily.
The man ( Sherlock Holmes was the name on his tag) studied her, but only for a moment before turning back to the espresso machine. “She’ll have the double espresso Americano—the ink on her hands and the bags under her eyes show she’s been up all night studying for something, probably... some kind of veterinary sciences exam, going by the cat, dog and yes, that is rabbit fur on her clothes.
I’m adding a vanilla caramel shot. She wants a sugar boost, but prefers vanilla notes to citrus or cocoa, judging by her perfume. ”
“He’s good!” The girls giggled in triumph and ran to the end of the bar to await their coffees, making far too much noise, in John’s hungover opinion.
He stared mournfully into his decaff latte. He’d wanted it caffeinated, but he hadn’t wanted to prove the smug barista right. He thinks he knows me , thought John. He’s only just met me.
Well not ‘only just.’ To be fair, they’d been dancing this dance for a whole week now. John would come in every day, first for his morning coffee, and then later, for a tomato mozzarella bagel and lunchtime caffeine hit.
Before Sherlock’s arrival, this had been the best coffee shop within ten minutes of the hospital where John worked.
Until the Battle of the Decaff Latte.
Until John had lied to the barista seven days ago, insisting that he did indeed want decaff, just to wipe the smug grin off the bastard’s face. Oh, the man hadn’t said anything about it at the time, but you could tell it bothered him. They’d barely exchanged any words since, but there had been a battle of wits going on...
On Wednesday, Sherlock the barista had played dirty.
He’d brought over a regular latte to John’s table, with just the right amount of foam, and with one of those plastic-wrapped, caramelised biscuits you get with coffee, that John adored but could never find in the supermarket. John had never seen tables waited at the café in all his years as a customer, but the barista insisted (sir) that wasn’t this his drink (sir) and actually apologised for messing up John’s order, trying to take away John’s decaff and replace it with the regular coffee.
John gritted his teeth as he remembered insisting that no, decaff was exactly what he wanted. He could swear the barista had waved the regular latte (which had smelled amazing) under his nose a few
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