They’d been in New York for a few days now, on a case, and John was exhausted and irritable. He’d left Sherlock in their room and headed down to one of the ubiquitous Starbucks that seemed to be on every corner. He’d just sat down with his tea (watery, bitter, but still better than nothing) when a lovely Asian woman sat down next to him. He smiled and nodded.

“John, John Watson. Can I help you?”

The woman’s eyes bulged briefly, as if in shock.

“J— Joan. Joan Watson. And, I’m not sure.”

The two of them let out nervous giggles, the coincidence too amusing to ignore.

“I’ve noticed you hovering around at crime scenes lately. I…” she paused, unwilling to say too much. “I work with the police sometimes. Well, someone I know does. But you don’t seem to be affiliated with the police force, so what’re you doing around?”

John sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s complicated. We’re - my partner - is a consulting detective.”

The young woman looked startled again.

“Are you pulling my leg? This isn’t funny.”

“I wish I were, miss.”

Suddenly, John’s phone buzzed.

Bored! Come back to the hotel. -SH

“I’m sorry, Joan. I need to get back to him.”

She smiled and glanced towards the back door of the cafe, where a scruffy and irritable-looking man in a red and black plaid scarf stood looming and gesturing at her.

“Not a problem, I think I’m also being summoned. Nice meeting you, Watson.”

“You too, Watson.”