Sherlock x Mute!Reader

1."Mrs. Hudson isn't making the tea right."

„So, do you guys know what you want to eat?", asked John Watson in a slightly impatient tone. You could tell that he was hungry and did not felt like waiting any longer, just because the Holmes brothers made an eye-contact-battle.
Mycroft cleared his throat and gave the menu a quick look.
„Yes", he said and waved a young girl with a white apron over to the table.
You saw a man at a table right in front of the window waving so you quickly made your way to him. On the way, you struggled to get your notebook out of your pockets from the apron but had it in your hands, right at the moment when the man began speaking.
"One steak and one spaghetti.", he said and turned away from you again.
How rude, you thought, but nodded in a polite way and smiled.
Then you looked at the guy sitting on the right side of the table, wanting to know what he was going to order, but the man wasn't even looking up to you. His eyes were fixed on a paper that was lying in front of him on the table. You already knew him.
Since you have started to work at the Café you saw him now and then, always sitting at the same table, never ordering something to eat, rarely a cup of tea.
"Nothing for me, thank you.", he suddenly said and changed the pages of his paper.
Puzzled you let your pen slide back in your pockets, nodded once again and turned around.
"Why aren't you going to eat?", the men who ordered the food asked and just got a cold: "I don't eat when I'm working, digestion slows me down.", as a response.
"How did you know what I was going to order?", you heard one of the men asking as you walked back to the counter to give the cook your note.

You turned around again to face into the direction of the three men.
The man with the short dark hair, well the 'rude man' to put it into better words, just opened his mouth to say something, but got cut off by the guy in front of him.
"Your finger John, ", he said, his eyes still analyzing the papers in front of him. "It's on Spaghetti."
The man, called John, sighted and turned his glance to the window: "Obvious. Of course."
"WAITER!", someone suddenly yelled and you winced, nearly dropping your notebook.
You looked around to meet the gaze of two angry-looking men which were wearing expensive-looking suits and hats, black leather gloves and were smoking a strong cigar, you could smell it, even though you were on the other end of the Café.
Slowly you walked to the two men and bowed slightly, which was meant as an excuse.
"Not even an apology. Tsk.", the man with the cigar in his hand said and dumped the ash down into a vase.
You took the cigar out of his hand angrily but also carefully.
He rapidly stood up from his chair and crashed his fist onto the wooden table.
You flinched back a little but calmly pointed to a sign over the counter.
It showed a red crossed out cigarette.

Unwillingly he slowly sat down again, still glaring at you, but you just responded with a sweet smile.
You went to the counter again, putting the cigar into a trash bin and came back to the table, whipping your pen out and holding it over your notebook, ready to write.
Since none of them was talking to you, you looked the man on your right into his eyes, raised an eyebrow and tilted your head a bit. Your way of asking what he wanted to order.

After some seconds the man understood: " Two Cappuccino, please."
You nodded and gave him a polite smile again. Hearing the other man getting something out of his pocket, you looked at him, noticing that he just fetched a new cigar.
You gave him a warning look before bringing the cook the note with the two Cappuccino.
Right in time.
He was just placing two plates on the counter, took a peep at the note, looked at you and you nodded. Making the drinks was your job and you knew it, but the cook, or well the Chef, with his brown hair tied up into a plait, and his big belly, stretching the white shirt, always wanted to make sure. He was a nice guy, never being angry, even when you made mistakes, he was always calm.
And for some reason, the man that never eats here did not need to pay his orders, which also counts for his friend, John.
You learned that right on your first day here and embarrassed yourself.
The Chef went back into his kitchen and you behind the counter, making two cappuccino and some black tea.
You wanted to be attentive towards the man who was here so often and thought it would be a good idea to bring him a cup of tea. He does not need to pay it anyway.
You took the water boiler off of his socket and poured the hot water into a cup with a black teabag.
And over your hand.
You pulled your hand back out of reflex and squeezed your eyes tight, whimpering in silent because of the pain pulsing in your right hand.
Fast you let cool water run over it and flinched as the water hit your burned spot.
With tears in your eyes, you grabbed a little can of milk and poured a bit into the tea.
Blinking the teardrops away you grabbed the two plates in your left and the tea in your right hand, bringing it to the table with the 3 men.
You placed the food in front of John and the 'rude-man' and the tea in front of the other man.
He was still looking at his papers, ruffling his hands through his brown, messy hair.
"Thank you.", he said in his warm voice while continuing to dead glare the black letters on the paper. "And hold your hand under lukewarm water, because of your burn."
You nodded, confused, about the fact that he knew that you burned yourself but put it off with the explanation that he saw your red hand.