Cafe

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John received a text early that morning.
“Read it out,” Sherlock demanded from the other room.
John sighed and opened it, then frowned. It didn’t seem all that odd.
‘21 Northumberland Street. See you there.  AH’
“She wants to meet up.” John told him.
“Tell her no.”
“She says it’s important.”
“Ignore it.”
“I…”
“John,” Sherlock said in a warning tone.
“I…One more meeting can’t hurt, right?”
Sherlock scowled.
John walked to the door. “I’ll see you later, right?”
Sherlock muttered an annoyed reply.

John exited the taxi and entered the café, taking a table. It was a different waiter this time. He wondered briefly to the whereabouts of the owner. A woman slid up next to him and sat beside him.
“Hello John.” The woman said.
John frowned. “Ah sorry, do I know you?”
“Oh, no, no. But I know you.”
He frowned. “What do you…”
She smiled and there was a click of a gun cocking.
He froze.
“Now, you’re going to leave here, nice and quiet, and go to that taxi waiting outside. Otherwise…” and the girl smiled. “The cleaners will have a field-day.”
John looked around, and suddenly realised how silent the place was. Everyone was watching them.
They were all paid, he realised. He had no choice.

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