Not Quite Duty-Free
While he was already growing impatient with the process of checking-in their baggage, he knew somewhere far in the back of his mind that the actual boarding process would be much more tedious. However, Sherlock would put up with it but just for the case. He had no intent of loosing the little scrap of entertainment that seemed to have quite a bit of potential. That and of course, the mere fact that it was a case but one he definitely intended to solve. Not only was the case intriguing, the clientâs persona also was. Despite that he initially thought to only look into the case, he was now contemplating a sort of multitasking idea. He would look into the case but would see what he could from Morgan as well. Perhaps one would lead to the other and investigating the two at the same could definitely be helpful.
Sherlock sighed ever so slightly at the mention of food. He had no intent of eating and oddly enough neither did Morgan but John had not had a chance to eat anything at the flat as they were a bit rushed. He knew very well that they were not going to go anywhere anytime soon so he did not put too much protest in sitting down for a bit for what seemed to be a late breakfast. In other words, he would sit and observe everything for however long it took, perhaps do a bit of interrogation but he doubted he could get much at this point. It seemed that Morgan was well aware of his eating habits as he was not addressed in the slightest and was thankful he wouldnât need to explain himself. After a bit of walking, they had finally chosen a place to sit and he followed behind wordlessly, not feeling the need to take charge of anything for the moment being.
John stepped up to shake Morgans hand, as Sherlock had done, and almost recoiled- it was freezing. âPleasure, Morgan,â he had to almost work for the return smile as their hands parted and he closed his own into a fist, driving away the cold. His first impression of Morgan was slightly different than what he first thought- the man obviously had money, and had no problem flaunting it, a little higher on the earth than everyone else seemed to be his stance of things. That didnât bother John so much- Sherlock, after all, had the same attitude a lot of times. Checking in their bags took a little longer than expected, what with Sherlock hardly flying before, and the baggage girl being somewhat of a ditz, he was relieved when it was over.Â
âIf weâre not in a rush, we could sit down somewhere and eat,â John suggested, looking pointedly at Sherlock and quickly to Morgan, who sauntered along just in front of them as a leisurely pace. Sherlock just rolled his eyes. Morgan on the other hand was kind enough to offer to stop and let them all eat. John stood for a moment and looked around. There was a chinese restaurant, no, italian, that didnât sound too good eitherâŚHe finally decided on a little bistro- John ordered a cup of tea, and a ham sandwich. Never too early for lunch, especially when it involved ham.He sat in relative silence, munching away on his sandwich as everyone else talked- just observing everything. He didnât much like the way that Morgans âsuitsâ were looking at him though, a perpetual grimace set on the mans face whenever John peered over at him. He would just let Sherlock do what sherlock did best for now, deduce Morgan, and then of course heâd listen all about it later on the flight. John had his own assumptions of course by this point.Â
Lucifer and Sherlock sat as they waited for John to go attain whatever cheap, over-produced food he desired at this early hour of the morning. Whatever time it was. Time was relative. Time was an invention of Humanity to show their control and taming of the world. The Demons that were travelling with him obediently took a seat at the table next to theirs. Morgan's eyes drifted over Sherlock Holmes, pale blue, half-lidded, showing only mild interest at best. Fingers entwined with his clasped hands, mirroring the other man's pose.
"So, Mister Holmes, you ever been out to the States before?" he asked, hating that accent with every word he spoke, but understanding it was a necessity. Though he would always be amused with any disguise he was pulling off, any trick he played, any deception. There had been a long stretch of silence prior to the question, but John had made it back to the table before Sherlock had the chance to answer. And that provided some distraction from the mutual observation period.Â
Lucifer managed not to turn his nose up at John's choice in food. It hardly seemed appealing, and yet the man feasted on it happily. Perhaps he really was as hungry as he told them he was. Though would he really have any reason to lie? He seemed a simplistic being in comparison to Sherlock: more susceptible to those irritating human needs and desires, unlike the detective - as far as he had noticed. Even this body, Nick, he could feel him tugging those rare times he was conscious, begging for food or sleep or some other ridiculous request. How much more Humanity could have achieved if they weren't cursed with these requirements for survival. He had to maintain a steady diet of Demon Blood to keep his temporary vessel intact and even he found it got in the way.Â
He tried a pleasant smile as he regarded John, and looked back at Sherlock to hear the answer to his question.Â
