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[ She nods curtly. ]

Apology accepted.

I am sorry as well. It was rude of me to pry.

Perhaps it was but that's entirely your prerogative, isn't it? I may not have control over your actions but what I do have is some control over mine. [Temper tantrums Watson rather unflatteringly calls them, mumbling something about his churlish behaviour under her breath whenever he gets into a strop about this, that and the other. Of course, Sherlock won't admit to any such thing. Aloud.]

I'll admit to being somewhat out of sorts lately but - [Sherlock bounces briefly on the balls of his feet, fingers spasming rhythmically against his thigh, restless, twitchy. He does his best not to look too closely at her, to focus too much on the dirt on her shoes, the composition of the soil. He tries to ignore the fact that he can quite accurately depict the route she walked to be here.]

But that's hardly your problem, is it? You don't know me and I don't know you and after what I hope will be a brief reconciliation, we'll both go our separate ways.

[ Something about his demeanor, it's unsettling. Can he focus? She can't tell. ]

Perhaps, I should probably know better by now. At the very least, you are wise enough to separate yourself. Most aren't.

[ Okay, no, really, the way he's practically jittering---she's not sure his full attention could even be captured. ]

...Is there something else troubling you?

No, I'm not troubled. [Except he is. But not by her, just by his... overall circumstances. She, though perhaps vaguely interesting in the more conventional sense, is something he's doing his level best to ignore as much as possible.]

[And, in doing so, he inadvertently ends up talking at her rather than to her.] At least, not at the present moment. Although I'm sure a few of my colleagues - [He says it with the barest curl of the lip, derisive. Yes, they're colleagues but that hardly makes them his peers.] - would argue otherwise. Completely unfounded, of course.

[Yes, because the way he fidgeting with his sleeves and scanning around as though looking for something - there's a man over there, for example, to her left that's involved in a rather banal insurance scandal that's briefly captured Sherlock's interest - makes him look the picture of a completely unperturbed human being.]

[ She's not nearly as observant as he is. But she can tell he's lying. Mako purses her lips in mock offense. But that's not polite, is it? Quickly the look disappears. The faintest speck of moisture landing on her cheek steals her attention; it looks like it's about to rain. To the left, then to the right, her attention wavers quite slowly, before returning to him. ]

Could I offer you a cup of coffee? As a more suitable apology.

[ Caffeine, right, just what this guy needed; but hopefully his insufferable attention span might wane. ]

That's very kind of you. [He says it with more than a little suspicion, eyes narrowing. He takes a moment to look at her properly for the first time, drinking her in and, after only a mere glance, concludes that she isn't there to murder, poison or otherwise incapacitate him. She's not wearing the coat for it.] This will be my - [He rolls his eyes to the darkening sky, making a few quick calculations.] - fifty-second hour and twenty-ninth minute of relentless consciousness. I think coffee will be just the ticket, don't you?

[The extra hit of caffeine might be what he needs to jolt his brain into making that oh-so-crucial leap in logic to solve his latest case (and it's the only hit he'll be able to score now that he's sworn off cocaine). Failing that, at least it will keep him awake long enough to reach the precinct and report to Captain Gregson about the limited progress he's made. He may have to suffer her company a little longer in the meantime but it seems a minor inconvenience in the scheme of things.]

[He extends a hand abruptly and almost directly in her face.] Sherlock Holmes.