Maybe it was the newspapers, John thought, watching as Sherlock tore apart his seventh napkin. How was he to have known they were a part of a "very long, very detailed, very much more important than soaking up bathwater, John" sociology experiment? Maybe it was his newly rescheduled date with Jane. Hell, maybe it was this case. Four hours in a café—Sherlock being subjected to society, John being subjected to Sherlock—and no murderer in sight. Whatever it was, it had Sherlock in a right foul mood.

"You know," John said, "You kicking me got old about twenty minutes ago." He winced when a size eleven connected with his shin. "Right. I'm getting another scone. Just keep an eye on my drink, yeah?"

While in line John's phone buzzed.

'You really shouldn't say such things to him. MH.'

Tiny shops like these had no need for security cameras. And yet…

'Don't you have anything better to do than watch us drink coffee all day? JW'

'No. And he tends to take things literally when he's bored. MH.'

Brow furrowed, John turned in time to see Sherlock pull a bare eye from his pocket, trailing just a bit of lint. Lazily he ran it along the rim and then plunked it into John's fresh cup of coffee.

"Oh. You're a bastard."