"For God's sake, stop yelling!"

"I'm not yelling, I'm disputing a truly despicable demonstration of flawed deduction."

"You don't have to watch that show, you know."

"Bored."

"What's so flawed about the deductions, anyway? I think Brad and Cindy get off rather well."

"Oh, please. Look at his collar and his fingernails. Look at her bracelets and tongue. They could not be more ill-suited."

"You're judging their potential together based on, what, accessories? What does that have to do with anything?

"Idiots."

"Well, she's certainly glued to him. Last week she called him her soulmate. And he seems happy enough. The audience loves them."

"More idiots."

"Care to elaborate?"

An ivory finger extends toward the screen. "His collar is loose, untucked—if she cared at all, she'd have tucked it back for him before the cameras arrived. Her jewelry hangs on her arm, and she shakes it back every two minutes; conclusion: she's not used to it, not accustomed to ornamentation, and judging by the state of her molars and the fact that she tries desperately to cover them with her tongue, all luxury, including toothpaste, is foreign to her. From the unearthly shade of his spray tan and polished pinkies, luxury is all he knows. And then there's his eyes—unaffected by the smile tattooed to his face, as is hers. Result: polar opposites. No chance."

"Who are you now, Dr. Ruth?"

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

"Do you mean to tell me you agreed this tripe?"

"Opposites attract—isn't that popular wisdom?"

"Popular wisdom—now there's a telling oxymoron. The population is largely deplorable. The population does not observe."

"And you do."

"Naturally."

Silence. He knows he has but to wait.

"Attraction, John—real attraction—is born of harmony, not opposition. Each partner excels at the traits his other half does not; the experience melds, it doesn't diverge. There is a meeting in the middle or the circle never completes."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"And you'd know, of course."

"Scientifically, the conclusion is inescapable."

"I see. Well, let's test your hypothesis, then. What sort of human could possibly provide harmony to Sherlock Holmes?"

A few seconds tick by. "My work provides harmony."

"That's great, but that's not what I asked."

"What exactly did you ask? You're making little sense, as usual."

"I want to know what traits you think someone has to have to harmonize with someone like you."

"No such person exists."

"That's not an answer."

"Nonetheless, it is true."

"Well?"

A flurry of limbs. "Well, do you know someone who is reasonably curious and moderately clever; and determined, loyal, strong, trustworthy; AND accepting of constant change, skilled with weapons, and undeterred by a rotting corpse? Show me that impossible mix and I'll—"

"You'll what?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Why? What would you do?"

A few minutes of silence.

"Have you ever met anyone like that, Sherlock?"

The only noise is the click of buttons on the remote control.

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