BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 2)

Sherlock: When In Brazil

Request for @jubanes

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"Brazil is lot different than London in January," commented John as he took a drink of his water. What was left of the hot sun beat down the two men, seeing as they weren't lucky enough to have gotten a spot inside, or in shade. "But it sure is pretty."

"I'm indifferent to the scenery," commented Sherlock. "Nature is just a distraction."

"So you're telling me you don't like it here?" asked John incredulously.

"I don't like it anywhere, London just happens to be the most tolerable place to live in the world."

"Your positive attitude is contagious," remarked John sarcastically. "Aren't you hot?" he asked Sherlock, referring to the long pants, button up and coat that Sherlock wore, as if he was still stuck in rainy London.

"Depends on who you ask," answered Sherlock.

"Funny, real funny," replied John, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing the sweat around his eyes.

Sherlock didn't respond. He was too busy searching the crowd over and over, hoping to spot the three men who's picture was now engrained permanently in his brain. Him and John had been sent to Brazil by Mycroft to prevent the blowing up of the British embassy in Rio, and finding those three men was the first step to stopping it.

A shadow came across Sherlock, and he looked up to meet striking (y/e/c) eyes. "Mais água?"

"Uh," John mouthed dumbly, looking at Sherlock for help.

"Ah, Americans," said the girl with a laugh. Sherlock couldn't help but notice the way her voice rolled like spiced honey over her tongue and into his ear.

"No, English," replied John, not liking the mistaken identity.

"The accent, I hear it now." She laughed again as she filled the boy's water. Her arm stretched across Sherlock and he caught the scent of coconut lotion. Words flashed across his vision:

All natural

Native to Brazil

Attractive

Dancer

Attractive...

He shook his head free of the words, and realized that John and the waitress were both staring at him, obviously waiting for him to say something. "Sherlock," said John, "anything to eat?"

"I would like a big plate of nothing," he stated, going back to his search of the crowd and handing the menu to the waitress.

"Are you sure?" asked the waitress. She still stood in front of him, so he had to strain his neck around her to ignore her, hoping she'd just go away. Suddenly a hand grabbed his jaw, and his eyes had no choice but to look at her (y/e/c) ones. "You're face is too skinny, you need to eat. I'll bring you a plate free of charge," she said, releasing his jaw and winking at him once before walk away. In a second, Sherlock was back to searching, trying to put her soft but firm touch out of his mind.

"Foreigners are strange," he commented. The waitress turned around, having heard what he said. She wasn't hurt though, if anything she felt more attracted to him than she had when she first locked eyes with him.

John looked at him in disbelief. "You really are oblivious you know. She was trying to fl-"

"I see them, let's go," ordered Sherlock, spotting the three men. He left John in a rush to catch up to him as he threw some money on the table, not that realizing it was pounds and not reals. Another thing the pair did not realize was that the waitress had walked out with their food at the exact moment they took off from the table. Seconds later she had already put the food back in the kitchen and announced that she was leaving, and she set off behind the crime solving duo.