𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄, sherlock holmes

𝐕𝐈 . . . FASTEN YOUR SEATBELT POIROT!

          POPPY HAD JUST FINISHED CLEANING THE gathered dust off from the old and scratched coffee machine shoved into an empty space on the speckled marble counter with a faded, threadbare cloth and heavily watered down sanitising liquid sloshing around in the bottom of the spray bottle when the bell on the counter gave a shrill ring.

          All of the customers sat at wobbling tables and rickety chairs looked up from their steaming dinner plates crammed with toast and beans and sausages — it was part of an all day breakfast, a menu item Joan insisted went down a storm —, their silver cutlery and food halfway to their gawking faces as they stared ( some craned their necks over their shoulders to get a better look ) shamelessly.

          Even the news-anchor above the constantly rotating headlines seemed to fall oddly silent.

          Then Poppy saw Joan standing infront of the soap-covered mugs in the sink in the little kitchen with the television controller in her hand watching, wide eyed, and on excited tenterhooks. No-one ever rang the rusty little metal bell — it was positioned there strictly for decoration purposes only.

          Evidently this was a fairly well-known fact to all observing the scene, hence their enraptured interest.

          Poppy turned around to the person stood on the other side of the counter and stared at them in contempt. Then she wrapped her hand around the bell and dragged it over the surface of the counter, the screech against the surface causing people to wince and look away.

          "Come on Pops." It was Theo. He was back from Cambridge, all of the buttons were done up on his coat and he had a small suitcase placed at his side, the handle reaching his hip. "What's the big deal. That's what it's there for, isn't it?"

          Poppy could have killed him with one of the stupidly weak plastic knives to the right of her hand. Joan looked confused, and Theo didn't seem to understand the consequences of his words. The customers went back to their food, utterly disappointed and freshly disinterested. "Pops?" He waved his hand around in her face, and Poppy slapped it away.

          "I don't know who you are, and I certainly don't know who 'Pops' is. I think you have the wrong person, and it would be great of you could leave." Poppy dismissed Theo with a flippant wave of her hand, and tried to shoo him away. However he simply would not leave.

          "Pops, it's me. Theo. You know who I am, why are you talking like that?" Joan had come to stand by Poppy when she next opened her mouth to speak with her phone in her hand, the keypad poised to make a phone call if necessary, "You alright, Anna?"

          "Fine, thanks. I've got this, Jo, I think someone at table eight wants a re-fill of their drink. Like, right now."

          "There isn't anyone even sat at table eight. And that's not my job, it's yours."

          "No? Oh, then someone is bound to want a re-fill. I'll be fine, off you go. Quickly, or that coffee will have gone cold by the time you get there." Joan looked confused, but she picked up the coffee pot never the less and worked her way around the remaining customers in the cafe, offering them some more of the bitter drink.

          Poppy turned to Theo, "What, in God's name, are you doing here? I specifically told you so many times to not come here!"

          "Oh. I didn't think you actually meant it." Poppy raised an unamused eyebrow, "Sorry. I just came to see how you were, you never called while I was away and I got worried." He was smirking proudly, as if he'd just come back from the front lines of a war.