Fleeting Impressions | J.M.

1: mint chocolate chip

"Here's a cookie dough and chocolate vanilla twist, have a good day," I hand over the cones to the mother and son before turning to the till to check out the next people.

Working in an ice cream shop was never my go-to option for a lifelong career. In fact, no mediocre 9-5 was of any interest to me. But after having two exceptionally smart and clever brothers, who exceeded in anything they did, I stayed away from the highlife as best I could.

It was always a pissing contest between the two and when I turned 20 I finally got out and far away. A boring life it is now, in some ways I miss it. The thrill of secrets of the British government, knowing things only the crown should know. Going on adventures in the middle of the night to solve cases and taking on experiments. The adrenaline of no sleep and outsmarting killers would make any girls heart race. It was a female boner for sure.

But it got a little too much after awhile. The private time with my brothers was exceptional, having to put up an act in front of the public was draining. It was all sherlocks fault really, he had to get all famous. Being the one and only consulting detective and solving all the cases in record time. Why did he have to go and do that for? We had a grand time solving the cases and setting them at Scotland yards door step. But it was not enough for Sherlock. He wanted more credit. He wanted the world to know of his genius. So while he floated in the lime light, I took my leave.

It's not like I wanted to get rid of that life forever, but I certainly needed a break. And what better was than to blend in with the common society? The invisible servant that you only meet once for a few seconds to grab your ice cream? That was the life I wanted to live for a bit. Not the life of Sherlock Holmes little sister/sidekick.

He could have John for that.

John was a nice fellow and I knew he would be the rock that I couldn't be for Sherlock. The army doctor knew how to ground my brother in some ways.

But I even lost touch with John after the move. I assumed a new identity. Beretta Holmes turned into Cordelia Goode. Thankfully no one has picked up on the American Horror Story reference. Even in my new life, I'm still a Netflix whore.

After that I changed my number. What's the point of being on my own if my two brothers would still be tracking me and breathing down my neck. It was necessary.

Moving to upper England, I got a place four hours from Baker Street in a quiet little town were I could live out my small girl dreams. It's been fun so far. But everyone here is so... dull.

I adjust my sailors hat, that is a part of my uniform, and scoop some mint chocolate chip from the bucket with a tiny spoon. Perks of working at a Scoops Ahoy is that I can take free samples all day. My lunch mostly consist of the frozen dairy. Plus, the day is winding down to an end, and the place is slow. No one here to see me, except a tall blonde in the back by the name of Emma. But she's harmless.

My lips freeze on the spoon when the tell tail jungle of the door alerts me to a customer.

It's that man again. The one in the Westwood suit and the devilish Irish accent. I would say he would be from the Dublin area, but that is as much as I would let myself deduce. Doing that makes me think too much of my annoying brothers.

He strolls confidently to the counter, only a few feet separate me from the man. He smiles. Cheeks crinkling and head tilted a little back so he's gazing down at me.

I pop the now clean spoon out of my mouth. "What would you like today, sir?"

He smirks a little at the word. I deduce again must have a kink, but I shake the thought away.

"Mint chocolate chip," he purrs, his eyes a little darker. Almost reminds me of a predator. I realize that this might be more than an average business man.

I scoop out a perfect sphere of the light green ice cream and place it on a sugar cone. Just like last time. I hand it over to the man.

His fingers brush against mine for a moment, a feather light touch. A shiver rolls down my spine and I straighten up.

"That will be 3.25," I walk to the till. And once again, he just stands there, licking the ice cream like a dog with a smile on his face. Slow, like he's savoring the flavor, or the moment, I'm not sure. Because he never takes his eyes off mine.

Why am I always the one who has to deal with the weirdos?

"Keep the change," he hands me another hundred like it's nothing. Does he always just hand out money?

"Not this time," I smile at him, feeling a little guilty. I click open the till to get the change, when his hand descends upon mine. I saw it coming, I could have moved. But I didn't.

His warm hand stops my wrist. He pulls the change from my hand, leaning over the counter to slide it into my pocket. The beating of my heart picks up from the close proximity. Why is he so close? Why am I not moving away? I scream in my head.

But he smells good. Like mint and chocolate and a cologne all of his own.

And his eyes are not as beady this time around but a soft brown that reminds me of cocoa on a cold day in London. I do have an affinity for sweets.

His hand lingers on my waist before he retreats, with a wink. And walks briskly out the door without turning back. Why do I feel like this man has the flair for the dramatic?

I clasp my hands and feel the sweating palms and let out a breath. In his presence it feel like my mind wants to be overflowed with deductions and information, yet I fight against the current. Still, even with a challenge in front of me, I try to repress the annoying talent of the Holmes children.

Now I regret it. I want to know more about the man. I want to deduce him. Because now I'm just left with a million questions and curiosities. Is this how normal people feel after an interaction?

It's disgusting.

I roll my shoulders back and pick up another spoon full of the rich mint chocolate chip to pop in my mouth. The flavors remind me of the mint on his breath and the chocolate of his eyes.

My head bangs off the countertop in annoyance. Get out of my head!

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Authors note:

Thank you to everyone who clicked on this story and started reading it!! I know the Moriarty community is not very popular on here, so I appreciate my readers.

- ivy eve