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A cold October was rolling in, and Amica was cursing Dinah for convincing her to leave their flat without her thick woolen jumper. It's meant to be sunny today, she said. It won't be as cold as you think, she said. It was 3 degrees celsius. Just because Dinah was from bloody Achill Island and had skin as thick as leather apparently meant that the rest of humanity didn't feel the biting cold. She shuddered as she entered Bloomsbury Beanery, a quaint little cafe just down the road from the British Museum, and a ten minute walk from her home. "Sorry, so sorry," She stated, drying her muddy shoes on the mat at the front door, "'Excuse me, pardon me," She murmured to the patrons waiting impatiently in line to get their morning coffees. Beck gave her a pointed look as she snatched her apron from off the hook, and assumed her place at the cash register. "I'm so sorry, Beck, my alarm didn't go off.""How long have you lived in London, Amy?" He asked, shaking his head in disbelief, "Take orders, please," He muttered, taking off his apron. "I need a bloody smoke, you and Erin watch the shop."The next forty five minutes involved the comings and goings of patrons, museum goers and students alike. Amica hated her job. The fake smiles, the bright and bubbly output of a woman who often daydreamed about her schoolwork. She hated customer and food service in general, but she refused to rely on her mother's money to get her by, and her father was already paying for college. The bright side of feigning such optimism was the tipping; at least everyone tip. It was almost worth the abuse. She felt on her game today, however, taking and making orders while Erin worked on online orders.The old grandfather clock that laid on the wall in the corner by the lounge, hung above the piano, and struck five o'clock. Five o'clock already? They'd been open for an hour already and they'd had thirty customers. Now seemed to be a lull, but as everyone started to work and the cabs rolled out onto the streets of London, looking for fares, there was usually a good two hour period before another rush would hit. Initially cleaning her station while Erin sat on her phone in the breakroom, her attention was drawn to the ding of the bell at the door. In walked two well-dressed gentleman, both around the same height, one slightly taller than the other, but both with the stiffest posture she'd ever seen- no, scratch that, that she'd seen in a long while, "Bloomsbury Beanery? Really Sherlock?" A look of subtle disgust on the one with a cane's face. Upright and proper; she knew the type- she'd grown up around that sort of façade. "One would assume that, with all of London at your disposal, you could have chosen somewhere... less pedestrian.""It was on the way," The man, Sherlock apparently, muttered under his breath."We call it Beansbury," Amica stated, a poor attempt at making an equally poor joke."Beansbury," The taller man shot the one called 'Sherlock' a look, "How quaint,"Amica tried not to bristle at the man's words, continuing to make her small talk, "Well, we love it. Small, cozy spot. Welcome in, though; it's freezing out there. Can I get you anything to start?""I suppose I’ll have an Earl Grey, if I must," The sour-faced man stated with a dismissive wave of his hand as he turned to look at the other, "No lemon, no cream, no sugar." Oh, good, plain and boring. And quick. It would be easier to get him out of her shop."Erin, put the kettle on!" She called over her shoulder, with a short, "Can't you do it? You're closer!" She let out a short breath through her nose, keeping her smile on her face. She looked at the other patron, this Sherlock, smiled apologetically. "Give me a moment, please, so sorry,"Sherlock waved his hand as well, "No, please, carry on. I'm in no rush," Based upon the look the pair shared, the other was, in fact, in a rush. She turned, grabbing the metal kettle and filling it with the filtered water, plugging it in and turning it on."How polite of you, Sherlock, using your manners; I feared you'd have forgotten they existed," He quipped. Amica turned back, smiling brightly at Sherlock, before she could open her mouth, the other man continued, "She clearly practices hers, her cheeks look dreadfully worn."She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the man's remark, "And for you?""Triple espresso, black," He stated. Sherlock then leaned back to gaze up at the chalk board on the wall behind her, "What is a Doppio Divertimento?" The man next to him sighed."Sherlock, we really don't have time for this-"Amica would speak over him, "That is a triple red eye with vanilla syrup, cinnamon, cocoa powder, and milk froth." She stated, "I make the Drinks of the Week, last week was the Mocha Sonata."Sherlock raised a brow, "Dare I ask?""It's just espresso and orange extract, cocoa powder, and dark chocolate syrup. Friend got me a dark chocolate orange, I figured it would-" The kettle began to whistle. "Hold on," She said, pouring the boiling water into a cup, settling an earl grey teabag in it and closing the cap, handing it to the other man, "Three pound fifty seven."He shot Sherlock a look, digging a five pound note out of his wallet and handing it over. She counted change out, hesitating and clearly losing her place, and recounting the change before handing it back, "Three pound fifty seven for a tea, Sherlock.""I have a routine, Mycroft." Sherlock quipped. 'Mycroft' dropped 50p into the tip jar and Amica nodded, beginning to work on Sherlock's triple red eye, black. "Do you often make musically inspired drinks or is it a 'tis the season special?" He asked, drawing out the encounter."I typically do, I only started here in the summer, but I find it keeps my mind occupied and it's a way to pass the time," She poured the fresh espresso into a cup, measuring out three shots, closing the lid and handing it to the man. "S'on the house. Thank you for your interest,"Of course then was when Beck would walk back in. "On the house-? You don't get paid to give out free drinks, Amica."Amica rolled her eyes, turning to her shift lead, "And Jack doesn't pay you to snog Erin in the break room during early morning rush hour, but here we are," She remarked. Beck grew a few shades of red, but glanced at the customers in the front, opting to say nothing. Amy turned back to Sherlock, "Anything else I can get you?""No." He replied swiftly. He sipped the espresso, "Dark roast, notes of plum and cinnamon." He muttered under his breath. Well, that was a neat trick."Have a nice day," Amica remarked. Sherlock nodded curtly, turning on his heel to exit the store, Mycroft sighing heavily, muttering something under his breath as the bell above the door jingled as they exited. She turned to Beck, raising a brow, "What?""Nothing," Beck mumbled, moving through the dangling divider into the back."That's what I thought," She murmured. Amica looked back up at the door as the welcome bell rang out once again, "Hi, welcome in! What can I get started for you?"