Title: Collide
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Molly/Eurus
Rating: T
Prompt: #102 - spark
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: Sparks fly at a coffeeshop. Admittedly, most of those sparks are Eurus' murderous impulses, but there are some sparks.
Warnings: murderous impulses, not towards Molly
Notes: Eurus is a slightly better person than in canon. Apparently I'm not done being obsessed with this ship.

In retrospect, playing the part of a barista had been a bad idea. The plan was simple: rather than posing as the daughter of Culverton Smith, Eurus would pretend to work for a day at Sherlock's favorite coffee shop, one a block away from Barts. Sherlock would come in after visiting the morgue, she would say something just intriguing and suspicious enough for him to see her as a suspect in a major kidnapping scandal, and they'd start an amusing game. She hadn't factored in exactly what working at a coffee shop would involve. She had been yelled at, snarked at, and worst of all, whined at.

In the last five minutes, she'd heard from a teenager, "You didn't put enough milk in this."

"Why don't you have pumpkin spice?" asked another one.

A small child made a mess of the napkins. Eurus' co-barista had vanished somewhere halfway during the shift. Her manager seemed to think that she wasn't allowed to take breaks whenever she wanted.

Eurus was very well aware of her propensity for violence and frankly, she'd been on the edge all morning. She was this close to just poisoning the lot of them. It wouldn't be hard. All she had to do was mix in some cleaning supplies with the coffee, throw in some cream, and watch them drink the whole concoction. Her fingers twitched for the bleach under the counter.

No, she said to herself, sternly. It would be way too easy for Sherlock to trace this crime to her. She needed to intrigue him with a crime she didn't actually commit, and then see him tearing his hair out over the two very convincing suspects.

Eurus threw down her apron. "I'm taking a break."

From the back of the shop, her manager yelled, "If it lasts as long as your last one, you're fired!"

She was definitely going to kill him. Later. But until then, Eurus slumped down onto a chair at an empty table and placed her head down into her arms. She was happy to blame lots of things on Mycroft and Uncle Rudy, so she put her completely lack of work ethic onto being imprisoned for most of her life. There were things she liked—sex, murder—but everything else was so terribly boring.

And Sherlock hadn't even come into the coffee shop, despite her 99% analysis that he would. What was wrong with this world?

From somewhere above her, a woman's voice said, "Are you alright?"

"No. Stalking my brother is much harder than I thought it would be," Eurus said, not bothering to look up. Being truthful on occasion amused her; she'd told multiple people in London she was a murderer. One had called the police right in front of her, while the other three told her a version of I don't have time to deal with that and walked away. People were oddly self-centered, despite their proclaimed interest in helping others. Eurus had no such interest in faking humanitarianism.

"Oh. Um, why are you stalking your brother?"

There was the sound of a chair scraping on the floor. The woman had decided to stay. Eurus finally looked up. She rearranged her head, resting her chin on her folded arms. It was a nice enough position, made better by the pleasant view. Women really were so pretty; puberty in solitary hadn't prepared her much for the realization that she didn't find men sexually appealing, but she'd made do with a couple nurses, and then a couple others, once she'd finally freed herself from Sherrinford.

"We're estranged. I'm bored and curious," Eurus said. It was a pity she'd gone for the truth earlier; a pretty lie would've been better. If she was going to quit this plan, she'd quite like having sex as a consolation prize. Sherlock, she knew, claimed to be completely uninterested in sex. Eurus had no idea how he did it.

"I think people usually turn to internet stalking in that scenario."

"He doesn't put enough personal information up online."

"No blog with his deep secret passions?"

"Only his intellectual passions, and those aren't very interesting." Eurus tilted her head. "So, would you care to tell me about your passions?"

The woman huffed out a small laugh. "That's a terrible line. Are you asking if I'm interested in women?"

Eurus shrugged. "I know you are. You're more into men, especially tall, dark-haired ones like the man who just passed by us, but you still appreciate women. What I want to know if you're interested in doing something more than looking."

"I'm in love with someone else," the woman warned.

"I'll survive the heartbreak," Eurus replied dryly.

"If you're sure," the woman said, smiling. "I'm Molly."

"Esme."

"That's not the name on your nametag."

"No, but that one's not my real name, either. Still interested?"

Molly sighed a little. "Would you judge me if I said I am? I have such bad taste in partners."

"You're doing fine with me," Eurus said with a grin. Oh, this was fun. She liked people who were a little off course, the kind who knew they were making terrible decisions and still made them. Sherlock was one of those people, and so was his friend John. Mycroft liked to pretend he was always on the straight and narrow path, but Eurus knew better. And Eurus, well. Eurus hadn't made a good decision in years. "Can I get you some coffee? I'm particularly good at working people's personal coffee machines."

At that, Molly laughed. "How do you know I'm not on my way to work?"

"Intuition," Eurus said, not feeling like describing all the many ways she'd deduced that Molly had returned from her shift at Barts. Maybe later, she could even ask her about Sherlock, and turn this little break into an information-gathering session.

She picked up Molly's coffee for her and escorted her out, feeling better about her day already.

Behind her, her boss yelled, "You're fired!"