Disclaimer: The following is a fan based work of fiction that incorporates elements of the anime Tokyo Ghoul and characters from the show Sherlock. Neither of which I own. If you like what you're reading be sure to leave a vote and a comment.

Because the café that John frequented when he wasn't with Sherlock was within a reasonable distance from the hospital, the logical thing to do was take a cab, get their breakfast, and take another one back to 221 B. As the cab drove down the bustling streets of London, John looked out of the window; eyes scanning over the numerous faces of people going about their lives; from the business men with their impeccable suits and briefcases, to the teenagers laughing and joking together in their cliques.

Then there were the mothers with their small children about to embark on a trip to the supermarket. Each stranger that he saw peaked John's curiosity. How many of them were humans? And how many of them were ghouls? If any of them were ghouls, do they have jobs like humans? Do they feed on the humans who call themselves my friends? Can a ghoul and a human ever truly be together? The last question was a little off topic, but it wasn't one that he was expecting an answer to anytime soon. His train of thought was broken by the voice of his flat mate.

"Stop that." Said Sherlock. John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and turned to the blue eyed genius. "Stop what?" He asked. Sherlock regarded him with his usual look of indifference and apathy. By now, the cab had stopped near their destination.

"You're thinking again and it's wearing on my nerves". Said Sherlock. John just rolled his eyes having become immune to Sherlock's drama king tendencies and climbed out of the cab, with his flat mate in tow. The former soldier looked around the area they were in, searching for the afore mentioned café. All the while, Sherlock kept talking.

"So is this café meant to be the rendezvous spot for you and your girlfriends, or do you go there to ruminate on the state of the world, and all of that rubbish?" He asked callously. When John turned back to him, it was with a small smirk on his lips.

"Not this time. Today, I'm with you". He responded. With that, he turned on his heels and walked away from hid flat mate, across the street to a two story brown building. It was adorned with tall glass windows and a red banner with white writing on it. It read out in beautiful cursive, Ami Innatendu. In Sherlock's mind he quickly translated it as French for unexpected friend. The consulting detective raised an eyebrow in inquiry and followed behind John who made his way inside the building. When Sherlock caught up to him, his eyes scanned the interior of the café.

The four walls were a warm mahogany color, almost like brown sugar. The western side of the shop displayed the main counter were coffee was being served to whoever was sitting at the long table that connected to said counter. A little off to the side of it was a door that read Staff Only. In front of that door was a cash register that was occupied by two people. One was the employee manning it, and the other was John himself. The eastern side contained more tables as well as a large glass window that displayed the streets of London in all of it's' splendor. The northern end that Sherlock was facing gave way to more tables and a wall that most likely lead to a restroom. All in all, it seemed like any other coffee shop he'd been to in England, or anywhere else.

An establishment that decorated itself in warm colors and friendly faces to mask the fact that the employees were overworked, underpaid, and probably abused by the patrons who frequent it, while the manager rakes in the profits and grows wealthy on the backs of their employee's labor. However, there was always room for further deduction. John came up to the consulting detective and motioned the two of them towards one of the tables near the window. When they were seated, John immediately took up one of the decorative menus looking for what he wanted to eat, while Sherlock still upheld his cold analytical gaze. The former soldier glanced back and forth between his flat mate and the items on the menu until he finally set it down on the table.

"Okay, I know that this may be difficult, even with your genius level intellect, but for once can you take a day off and enjoy a simple breakfast? At least until Lestrade calls with something regarding the case". He said. Sherlock looked back at him like a child that had just received a minor scolding from their parents. But it didn't last long as he picked up a menu of his own and began reading it's contents.

"Assuming Lestrade finds something that can't be found by an amateur cop, like the ones working under his command". He responded. John raised an eyebrow in silent agreement before he looked back at the menu in front of him for what he wanted, finally deciding on a cappuccino.

"Or maybe the CCG". Said John as an afterthought. Sherlock looked back at his flat mate and gave a chuckle, thinking of Mycroft. For all of his brother's power and influence as MI-5, Mycroft was just as disturbed by the presence of the ghouls as Sherlock, Lestrade, or anyone else in power. The two of them were engulfed in a brief silence until John decided to bring up their previous conversation with Molly at St. Bart's'.

"You know Molly did bring up a pretty good point about the ghouls". He said. Sherlock looked at him with one eyebrow raised in confusion. John began to elaborate.

"Even if humans are doomed to receive their just desserts at the hands of the ghouls, if you take away their kagunes and red eyes, they can't be that different from us. I only wish that I live long enough to encounter a ghoul that may even have a sliver of humility". He said. Sherlock said nothing and just stared at his flat mate with a look that was completely unreadable to John. He didn't even look back at the menu but just gazed at his roommate with that same tame expression. If tame was the correct word to describe the consulting detective. But given the circumstances that they and the whole U.K. were in, not to mention Sherlock's first real encounter with a live flesh eating ghoul, vapid wasn't a bad word to use. John tried to uphold his flat mate's stare until their table was approached by their waitress.

John vaguely remembered seeing her when he was here before, but now that he had a good chance to look at her, he wished that he'd noticed her more often. She couldn't have been more than 18, with black hair that was tied up in a neat pony tail with a few strands of hair hanging in front of her face. Her eyes were a clear shade of green that were framed by her heart shaped face, pale skin, and the small smile as she stood with pen and pad ready to take their orders. Her attire was that of a typical café waitresses as she wore a tight fitting button down shirt, black pencil skirt, both covered by her brown apron, black tights, and black flat shoes.

And plainly visible on her one of the straps of her apron was a white name tag that read out in bold black letters Anita.