A/N: Though this does not take place in any specific continuity, Edward's personality here has been quite influenced by his portrayal in Batman: Zero Year.
If this Sherlock was as smart as he claimed to be, then he should have arrived thirty seconds ago. Honestly, the riddle he left wasn't that complicated. Edward Nygma sighed and looked down into his glass of amber liquid.
What a waste of money on awful liquor. Just looking at it made his throat clench and burn.
He wasn't one to often dull his mind in one of the various drinking holes that lined the slums of Gotham, but when he saw a news story about the great detective gracing Gotham with his presence because of some morbid curiosity, Edward knew that he had to see whether this Sherlock Holmes was all that everyone said he was.
He pushed the drink away from himself. He would give it a few more minutes and the leave.
But soon the door squealed open, a throwing slant of light into the dim room. People around the tables squinted and mumbled, but mostly ignored the intrusion.
Edward kept looking into the contents of his glass. If the newcomer was the detective, then he would easily find Edward. Footsteps tapped across the floor, punctuating the drunken murmurs of the room. Footsteps that came closer and closer to his table in the corner. He suppressed a smile.
A long fingered hand slid a green piece of paper with writing on it beneath his face. "'I am where men go to drown on dry land beneath the towers of lords.' Are you losing your flair, Mr. Nygma? The answer was quite simple—this riddle is in the style of an Anglo-Saxon kenning, so all I had to do was find a bar owned by a man named Mr. Saxon in a slum near a business center," said the deep baritone voice belonging to the man standing behind him.
"Not my finest work to be sure, but I didn't want to strain that poor mind of yours too much, did I? After all, we have so much to talk about." Edward waved a hand to the empty seat beside him.
Sherlock pulled it out and slumped into its stained leather back. He didn't so much as shift even though stuffing coming through a rip in the leather was poking his shoulders.
He exuded the same confidence he held in the still photograph Edward had seen on the news. Still, he wasn't terribly impressed yet. Pride was easy to have even when it wasn't earned.
"I see you don't care for the drinks offered here much more than I do."
Sherlock glanced toward the bar and the stout man polishing old glasses. The rag he used had a strange black residue on it. Yet another reason not to touch this bar's sorry excuse for alcohol.
"So, you came here to talk to me. Then talk." Sherlock leaned forward and laced his fingers together, pinning Edward with eyes that flicked across his face and shoulders, measuring him.
"You're quite the blunt one, aren't you? That's nice to find."
Sherlock sighed. "So this how the conversation will go—you will continue to make snide comments, and then remark upon the fact that we're similar. You will say we both crave mental thrills, and that we're both above the rest of humanity."
Edward clasped his hands together with a smile. This was getting good already. "Close, but no cigar. Yes, you're right, I saw a bit of a similarity, but that isn't why I wanted to see you. I wanted meet you for myself and see if you measured up to what everyone else said."
"How dull."
"And yet you came. Actions speak louder than words, my dear Sherlock." Edward clicked his tongue and waved a finger in disapproval. Really, Sherlock could choose his words more carefully and avoid hypocrisy. But then, pointing out inconsistencies was such fun.
"I came because meeting you was relevant to my interests in this city. You are one of the themed criminals I've heard about and desired to assess."
So, they both had wanted to meet the other? Coincidences were such funny things.
"Well then, what do you think?" Edward gave a thin lipped smile. Time to see Sherlock's famed powers of deduction in person. If it proved disappointing, at least it would be informative.
"You wear fine clothes, even to this less than savory establishment." Sherlock waved a hand at the green vest Edward was wearing.
"Your nails are kept well trimmed and shined, and I can smell the product in your hair, and it's not cheap. You go to great lengths to impress others with your appearance, even in the little things that they wouldn't consciously notice. You favor the color green, a color most visible to the human eye, and one that is especially appealing as well.
"And your inflated ego is clear, why else would you leave clues for people to solve at crime scenes? And our conversation has only further confirmed that fact. You probably also had a bad childhood, feeling like you didn't belong because of your intellect, and now you need to make everyone see you because you were invisible for so long."
Sherlock steepled his fingers, and again leveled his eyes with Edward's, readying his last strike of words. "You're simple, plain. I don't see why some people are so intimidated by you. All you are is a child still trying to prove himself, and like a child, you dress yourself in a costume while trying to do it."
His words did slice, causing a few things that Edward had packed away long go to bleed. But it wasn't much of a wound. It was little more than a verbal paper cut, because Sherlock's words weren't new. A sting like that loses its sharpness after hearing it over and over.
And really, accusations of ego were hardly insulting when the ego in question was deserving. Edward just let a grin slide across his face as he quietly clapped. "Oh, bravo. You haven't deduced anything that the shrinks haven't. I'm disappointed, honestly."
Sherlock's brows knitted together in false pity. "I see I've hit a nerve."
Edward snorted. "Hardly."
"You're getting quite defensive."
The man didn't let up, did he? He cut and dug until he had pried his victims open, poking at their gooey insides. There was something beautiful about it, really. But Edward gave as good as he got, and then some. And he savored this battle of words after constantly being near henchmen with IQs of two digits.
He swirled his drink and arched a brow. "You're not the only one who can play armchair psychologist, Mr. Holmes. I think that your deductions are not simply based upon what you've seen of myself, I believe you perhaps have some experience in being isolated as well. Yes, you were a lonely boy, perhaps alienated from your peers because of your peculiarities."
Sherlock laughed. "How expected of you to say that. Directing the conversation away from yourself by attacking me. And my past is irrelevant to what I do."
Edward yawned. "And how dreadfully boring your response is. The world needs more self aware people, don't you think? One is never free from their past. And yet you did not deny what I said about you."
Sherlock smiled. "And neither did you."
"Didn't I? I acknowledged your deduction, actually. Yes, I care about how I present myself.. What else do we have to show others when they first see us but our outer shell? And my past was quite typical of how you might imagine one of my ilk—deadbeat father and all." He shrugged.
"Simply acknowledging what I said doesn't make you any less mundane. You're just like the rest of them, except a bit cleverer." Sherlock shook his head.
Edward didn't so much as flinch at the words. Sherlock was just getting petty now. "Now here's where we get to the character comparisons you predicted. You relate to what I do more than you care to admit. You tire of the masses and their refusal to just see. And you want an audience too. Why else would you have a blog and do nothing to dissuade the publicity you garner?"
Whether or not the blow struck Sherlock, Edward did not see, but that did not diminish its truth.
Sherlock said nothing for, just stared. But then raised his hands and spoke. "Is that all you have left?"
"Heavens, no! I could say plenty more, but as they say, it's best to stop while it's still fun. I've enjoyed our little chat, but I'm afraid I've got to run." Edward pushed himself out of the chair and waved a hand to the detective.
He left the untouched drink on the table and crossed the floor, sweeping his eyes across the few people that watched him leave, their eyes glassy and unseeing. A pit of sheep with two wolves among them. Well, one less wolf now.
Yes, that meeting was certainly…interesting. Edward had to admit that the man was sharp and seemed to live up to what people said, but he was hardly the infallible man that people put on a pedestal. He was arrogant and gained pleasure from picking people apart, no matter what he seemed to say about his empirical, clinical process.
That was why he had come to Gotham—to match wits against some new challenge when London had grown to boring with its typical stable of serial killers and terrorists.
Gotham had more than enough justice seekers to go around, but still, this Sherlock could be a new challenge. And that was one of the most exciting things Edward had encountered in a while. Bat related detectives had their merit, but those encounters usually ended in physical violence.
Predictable, tedious.
But a clash of minds, now that was something to look forward to.
And with that thought, Edward crossed the trash strewn, ambling slums with a whistle and a skip in his step.