Los Angeles and Sherlock Holmes - the combination bore the makings of a nightmare.
He was subpoenaed in a federal case being tried in the Los Angeles District Court and the judge would not allow testimony via telephone. His presence was required. They estimated he need only spend at most two days in California. The battery of defense attorneys was footing the bill for travel and accommodations. Sherlock summoned his courage and asked Watson to join him. He couched his invitation in terms of doing her a favor, allowing her to come with him and enjoy a brief spell of California sun, a respite from the NYC winter. They both knew a lie when they heard one. Sherlock needed her stability; her presence provided a shield from what he envisioned to be an environment overrun with cacophonous cars, tanned bodies carrying mouths with overly white teeth yammering at him. Joan acquiesced. She went with him to hold his hand through the ordeal; plus, she could use a change of scenery. A little sunshine and some blue skies, even if only for two days, sounded appealing.
The trip did not start well. The flight from New York to L.A. was a particularly gruesome one for Holmes. Never a good flyer even when conditions were perfect, this flight pushed him to his limits. In order to control his exposure to annoying stimuli, he took the window seat and Joan took the middle. Turbulence, belligerent passengers, the incessant wails of small children, and tired and sarcastic stewards proved an irritant for both Joan and Sherlock. To top it all off, the young twenty-something blonde sitting next to Joan, took a shine to Sherlock, flirting with him shamelessly and trying to make idle chit-chat. The woman dismissed Joan as if there was no possibility that she and Sherlock were a couple and proceeded to talk around her as if she wasn't there. Joan quickly grew weary of the blonde, as did Sherlock.
"Oh you're British. There is nothing sexier than a British accent." She giggled and squinched her nose at him as she leaned across Joan to talk to him.
Sherlock glared at her and turned back to the window. Watson turned her attention back to her book. This did not stop Britttany. Her self-absorption blinded her to his obvious lack of interest in her conversation.
She leaned across again, "I once had a small part in movie where I needed to use an Australian accent - I did quite well if I do say so myself. British and Australian accents are quite similar and ..." Brittany proceeded with her inane comparison of the two accents.
Sherlock squirmed in his seat, squinted at the woman with disdain and said nothing.
"You have beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that? You would be quite a heartthrob if you took to acting..."
Joan sighed loudly and put her book down. She turned to Sherlock. "Are you going to do something about her or are you enjoying the vapid blonde's drooling attentions?"
The blonde stopped prattling and looked at Joan. "Hey, I think that's kind of rude." She wasn't sure what vapid meant but the tone made her think it wasn't nice. "I wasn't talking to you. Why don't you stick your nose back in that book. Are you going to let her talk to me like that?" Brittany always assumed that men would take her side in any argument.
Sherlock had been maintaining an air of stoic "niceness" for the sake of Watson but the blonde's comments to his partner gave him that small last push that sent him over the edge.
"Excuse me, Watson." He leaned forward across Watson to talk to the girl.
Joan sat back, with a small look of satisfaction, knowing what was about to happen. "Be my guest."
"You see this woman," he motioned to Watson, "you are not worthy to sit next to her let alone speak to her in that fashion. You have been nothing but disrespectful to her since the beginning of this flight. She is infinitely more poised, intelligent and beautiful than you can ever hope to be." His tone was quiet and intense. "This is my partner, my friend, my better half, if you will; I would sit in silence next to her for an eternity rather than listen to two more seconds of your bleating. If you wish sex, I suggest you go chat up the meaty fellow in the aisle seat two rows up. I am not interested in you in any manner. The only thing I wish from you is an apology to Watson and if you are incapable of doing that, I suggest you shut the fuck up." He raised his eyebrows, cocked his head and sat back.
Brittany batted her eyes and sat with her mouth open, "I never .. Gah .. Some people ..." She flipped her hair, plopped back into her seat and picked up her earbuds, while looking up the aisle a little way.
Joan looked at Sherlock with a sly smile which he reciprocated. She leaned her shoulder into his in thanks.
The plane shook with a sudden bump of turbulence. Sherlock grabbed at the arm rest and leaned a little closer to Watson.