Old habits are still in evidence, as Sherlock slips straight into a booth – his usual choice, as far away from the counter as he can physically get. John joins the queue and ponders for the umpteenth time why he always ends up getting their orders. At that moment, the barista bangs the filter holder twice against the drawer with a sharp metallic clang that cuts straight through the chatter of the early morning crowd. That must be the reason. The sharp noise of the steam, and the machine itself is probably enough to grate on Sherlock’s nerves.