The buds of spring were slowly blooming, bringing warmer weather and quiet April Showers into London.

John and Sherlock had had a brilliantly uneventful day. They sat around at Rainy Days and ate cheap candy and read lame comic books from noon until four, when they decided it was time to eat some real food. John mentioned a coffeehouse not too far from the bookstore, and Sherlock was more than happy to follow him wherever he wanted to go.

The weather was gorgeous, it was warm and cloudy, which was perfect to Sherlock. His fair skin burned easily, an unfortunate weak spot of his. Right as the boys sat down underneath the faded red canopy, it started to drizzle. There was no wind, and they weren't getting wet. It was calming background noise. "I'll go get us some coffee and we'll decide what to get when we get there," John started to walk away. Sherlock wouldn't have it. He tugged John's sleeve and gave him a kiss on the nose, and John wandered off in an embarrassed daze.

Sherlock heard a quiet giggle from beside him.

A woman with shoulder length sun kissed brown hair sat at the table opposite him. She wore dark sunglasses and a white blouse with a tight fitting black skirt, simple brown flat shoes. She had a beauty mark by her bottom lip. She was a plain woman, independent, and she didn't live to please anyone but herself. Her age must have been around thirty-three at least. On the table in front of her sat piles of papers and a laptop.

"Young love always seems to blossom in the rain," she spoke, her voice quiet, as if she didn't talk to people that much. Sherlock shook his head.

"Look, we're not --"

"I know." The woman smiled shyly. She sat back in her chair, looking out at something that Sherlock couldn't see. "Y'know, there's a quote that I really love. 'From the rain, flowers are born. We give these flowers to other people. And from that, love is born.' " She turned her head to look at Sherlock again, then spoke with subtle pain in her voice. "And the saddest part about it is that it's my very favorite quote, and I don't even know who said it."

Sherlock's eyed popped. It couldn't be. The odds were absurd.

The woman looked down at her lap. "I had a love that started in the rain. It ended so quickly that I didn't even see it coming."

Sherlock suddenly dove for John's bag and rummaged through it for "The Rain". He yanked it out and showed it to her frantically.

"Have you heard of this book before?" he shook it urgently. The woman stared at it for a moment. Her eyes slid up and down the cover at the strange and beautiful shapes, and then back down to her lap again. She nodded slowly.

"Karen Brown."

Again, she gave a slow nod.

Sherlock slumped in his chair, gaping at her like an idiot. His idol was sitting right in front of him, and he was at a total loss for words.

"You must be this mysterious 'SH'. You're the only one who's ever written to me before."

Sherlock leaned forward.

"Y'know, I never sold any copies. The companies I tried submitting it to never wanted to accept it. I had one copy made for myself after a lot of begging and pleading," Karen twisted her hands up nervously. "It was raining really hard and I had given up on the thing. I walked passed this store --"

"The Rainy Days Bookstore."

"Y-yes...I thought it was appropriate to leave it there, where it would be buried under all kinds of great novels. Hell, maybe it'd even soak up a little magic. I didn't think anyone would ever pick it up."

The two of them sat in silence. Sherlock glanced into the shop window, then started to tell her about John. He told her about the day he met John, and then the month of searching for him, and then how he was about to give up until he saw her book. He told her that every time he read the book over again, he'd found something new and spectacular that he hadn't noticed before. To Sherlock's great surprise, Karen burst into tears. John came out at that moment and rushed over to her after putting down their coffee.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, can we ever leave the house without you showing off your deduction skills??" he barked. Sherlock's gaze dropped in guilt. He twiddled his thumbs and muttered something about not knowing she'd react that way and he didn't mean to hurt her and the sort. Karen removed her sunglasses and pat her eyes dry with the napkin John handed to her. "No no no, he was just telling me this story..."

John looked over at Sherlock in humorous disbelief. "You were telling a total stranger a story?" Sherlock almost immediately retorted with, "She's not a stranger at all, she's Karen Brown, she wrote my favorite book." John's eyes widened and he suddenly noticed the book on the table. "No way, mate, what are the odds of meeting your favorite author at some lame coffee shop?" He turned to Karen and added with a wink, "You'd think you're his girlfriend by the way he talks about you." Karen shot Sherlock a look that screamed wait so you're actually not dating him?? Sherlock averted his eyes.

The three of them sat around (now at the same table), eating and joking and sharing stories. The drizzle in the background slightly obscured the sounds and the buzz of London. When six o'clock rolled around, Karen waved her goodbyes and set off into the rain without an umbrella. It reminded Sherlock of "The Rain", and he couldn't help but feel nostalgic.