| Imran Adebayo Ibrahim |

Being a detective isn't a child's play.

There were many rules guiding the art of a good stakeout, but there are three vital rules you need to follow; you definitely would need a pair if binocular, you can't sleep on a stakeout, and you definitely can't drink any sort of liquid because, if you drink something you'll need to pee — and bad guys always comes out when you've gotta take a leak. That's why every detective has to train their bladder.

Additionally, every good stakeout should be carried out on a weekend, only if you're a highschooler, that is. An early Saturday morning was the day Francis and I chose as our stakeout day. It was vital for us to start in the morning. According to the information we'd managed to gather on Instagram and Facebook, the suspect has a very strictly curated routine on Saturdays. He starts his day by jogging across the street, then drinking his morning coffee afterwards, with his coffee in hand, he'll hit the gym.

It was an easy routine to follow, all we had to do was trail behind him and lay low — it's not as if we would be carrying out all those hectic activities he had bestowed upon himself.

Studying your suspect is also vital in good detective work, our suspect in this case is: Raheem. An eleventh grader who just moved to the neighborhood. Every stakeout has a motive, and my motive was to find out if he and Sahar are truly dating each other — or at least find dirt on him.

And trust me, everyone has a dirty secret, all you have to do is dig deeper.

Francis and I met at my garage, that was what we'd planned a day before. And as planned, he brought with him two bicycles — a pink and a blue one. He also had a binocular dangling over his neck. He was dressed in a more conventional style, wearing a well tailored, single-breasted suit in shades of grey. He also wore sturdy, practical shoes and on his head was a bowler hat. In his hand, I could see a deerstalker hat. He was dressed to resemble a gentleman from Victorian England — his dressing reminded me of a character. Seeing the initial crocheted on his suit, I remembered who he was dressed as — Dr. John Watson.

"For you, Sherlock." Francis said, using a very inappropriate British accent. He stretched forth the deerstalker hat in his grip.

I couldn't help but snort at him, "Francis, what do you think today is, Halloween?" I quipped, collecting the hat from him. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, he probably spent hours dressing up, and it might be fun to live as Sherlock for just a day.

I wore the hat on my head, tying its dual brim and ear flaps downward, I felt the heavenly Sherlock Holmes spirit possessing me. I felt like I was in Arthur Conan Doyle's original work. My initial dressing was Sherlock-ish as well: wearing Jamal's old frock coat and his crisps white dress shirt with high collar — I was practically the next Sherlock — just a black one, if Netflix was to make the TV show.

"Shall we proceed, kind sir?" Francis inquired, his leg on the bicycle's pedal, ready to press on it.

I jumped on the bicycle as well, "We shall do so, Doctor." I replied, playing along with the charade as we rode out of my garage, into the street.

We were just in time for Raheem's daily run. He had with him, his gym bag and a water flask. As he jogged, we rode behind him — riding as slowly as possible. As we cycled west, we rode past Raheem, and fortunately he didn't notice us due to the airpods in his ears. Since we knew his next stop, we headed to the coffee shop: Urban Grind.

Arriving at the coffee shop before him, we parked our bikes locking it to the bars, before entering the coffee shop. That coffee shop was absolutely different from Starbucks — it was a Midtown hub where locals and students came to chill. Almost fifty percent of Midtown High's students were inside the Cafe. Everyone was laughing, chatting and some were even revising — I presumed the students were revising as college students.

In the rear front of the shop was a podium with a microphone set. The flyer on the wall made me realise the podium was for open mic events. The coffee shop was invigorating, maybe I'll visit for leisure someday, but today, I was visiting for business — a very serious one.

Francis went ahead to the counter and he ordered a blonde roast and a panini for us. With Francis ordering our coffee, I took a seat, covering my face with a newspaper I found on the table.

"Son, that's my paper." I heard someone say this to me.

"It's yours? I'm sorry," I apologized, removing the toothpick I'd found on the table from my mouth.

"That was my toothpick, as well, son. Your mama didn't teach you not to put things in your mouth?" The man added, making me gag at the realization that the toothpick was inside his mouth before mine — I'd technically kissed a fifty-something year old man. Ew.

"Don't worry, I was just leaving. You can have my 'paper." He announced as he turned to leave, then he paused, "and son, I didn't use the toothpick, you can relax." He added as he walked out of the cafe.

I thanked the Almighty that the toothpick had not been used by him. The reason why I picked up the toothpick was a mystery to me, I guess the Sherlock-ish spirit in me wants to chew itself a straw.

The coffee shop's door opened again and Raheem walked inside. Francis was still loitering in front of the barista, like they were chit chatting. He'd get us caught. Before that happened, I instantly called him by the code name we'd agreed on: "Chico!" I yelled, and instantly he turned to look at me. I pointed at Raheem and he understood immediately.

He cut his chatting short and he managed to stay out of sight from Raheem till he made it to our table.

"That was close, innit?" Francis inquired, setting the coffee cups and the wrapped paninis on the table.

"It sure is," I sighed out in relief, "what is he doing here?" I inquired, sipping the blonde roast. The taste was magical, it was better than the one we served at Starbucks. "This coffee is oowe." I exclaimed.

"Yeah it is." Francis concurred. "He isn't ordering anything, he's just sitting down." He pointed out, watching him from the binocular he had with him.

I dropped the coffee, "I feared for this, Dr. Watson, breach in his routine." I said, tutting rhythmically and shaking my head.

"Perhaps, he is waiting for a lady?" Francis proposed, still looking through his binocular.

I grabbed the binocular from him, almost choking him. Looking through it, I saw him, impatiently waiting for someone. His feet were doing a funny dance on the floor. "He sure is nervous, do you think he is waiting for Sahar?"

"Maybe." Francis answered, biting into his panini.

The coffee shop's door opened again, and someone walked in. It was a girl, the big Biochemistry textbook that peeked out of her totes bag told her med-student life perfectly. She was definitely a year one student, because she was too young to be in her finals.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching through the patrons, students absorbed in their laptops and textbooks, couples chatting softly, and friends laughing over steaming mugs. She continued her search, her gaze moving from one face to another.

Her casual outfit — jeans, a simple t-shirt, and a light jacket — blended perfectly with her Nike sneakers. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes narrowing slightly in concentration. Finally, she spotted Raheem who was focused on his smartphone, occasionally glancing out at the busy street outside.

I watched as a relieved smile tugged at her lips as she made her way towards him, treading through the maze of chairs and tables.

"Francis," I called, "look, someone came for him, a girl."

Francis dropped the 'paper he was glancing through and gazed at the college girl. "That's defo not Sahar, mhm mhm." He shook his head in negativity.

We both watched her approaching Raheem, he looked up, their eyes meeting. His expression softened into a welcoming grin. She reached his table, pulling out a chair to join him.

"Hey," I assumed she said. I couldn't hear what she said, but I could read her lips. "Sorry I'm a bit late."

He shook his head, still smiling. "No worries. Glad you made it." Raheem replied, he stood up and walked to the girl's side of the table, leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"What on earth is this? Do you perceive the same thing I do?" I inquired, using the appropriate British accent.

"Yes, indeed, I do perceive it. This is most scandalous and quite extraordinary." Francis replied, his fingers caressing his underdeveloped beard.

"Dr. Watson, we've just closed this case, innit?" I inquired, as I photographed the two of them together,

"Why, yes Sherlock. It's a case of a cheating boyfriend and a med student." Francis quipped.

And with the picture in my phone's gallery, me and Francis stood up and left the coffee shop. Our work has been done.

Raheem — the eleventh grader who just moved to the neighborhood — is nothing but a cheater.

May the Almighty save us from such deceitful practices. Astaghfir Allah for him, and for me; because, I'm about to go full on home-wrecker.

Author's Note

Hey y'all. This chapter is very special, initially it wasn't planned, I never planned to write a bonus chapter, before the big epilogue that is. But my editor (AKA my lil' brother) said Imran and Francis deserves a day together, to strengthen their friendship. And I figured nerds like to play detective. Do vote, comment and share as you like. Your thoughts are needed, please. Thank you.

And while you're at it, can you check out my bestie's That_girl_riii book, Roses & Bullets, I'm sure you'd love it, the way I did. Do vote, comment and please share.

Glossary

Oowe: is an Atlantad slang that means wonderful.

Astaghfir Allah: can be translated to I seek the forgiveness of Allah.