Waiting...

Waiting was not something Sherlock did well.

An ice storm scraped across the eastern seaboard causing flight delays and cancellations. Sherlock and Joan sat side by side in the crowded waiting area by Gate 32B at Dulles. They had no other choice but to wait.

Watson being Watson had prepared for such an event: she was plugged in, watching a movie on her laptop; she made sure Sherlock had his latest issue of Apiary Digest, his tablet sat handy ready for writing, research and/or reading, and snacks were tucked into her carry-on's side pocket. Low blood sugar could cause all sorts of issues. It was like traveling with a toddler, but at least he was an intellectually challenging, entertaining and occasionally helpful toddler.

Sherlock sighed deeply and perused his bee journal while trying to ignore the looks from the tall doofus in a trenchcoat sitting across from him. The man was obviously bored and wanting to start a conversation. Sherlock was not interested. He raised his journal higher covering his face.

"Bees, huh?" came the voice from across the way. Sherlock pretended not to hear and continued the pretense of reading only too late realizing the seat next to him was vacant.

"Not too fond of them myself ..." said the voice in a dry New Englandish accent as it got closer to him. Before Sherlock had a chance to react, the seat next to him was occupied. Sherlock gave him a quick appraisal, about six feet tall, in his late forties/early fifties, look of a government worker of some kind, active, relatively intelligent. The man's companion across the way sat working on her laptop, ignoring him. They had obviously been together a long time.

Again Mr. Trenchcoat spoke, shattering his concentration, "So, you a beekeeper?"

Watson looked up afraid Sherlock was going to be abysmally rude.

"Yes. Of sorts." He answered curtly and went back to his article. Watson went back to her movie, relieved for the moment he was being civil.

"We've had a couple of run in with bees, huh?" He spoke to his companion, giving her a lop-sided smile. She never took her eyes off the screen but acknowledged his comment by a raise of her eyebrows, and a small diagonal nod of her head. She obviously didn't want to talk to him either.

He turned his attention back to Sherlock. "You're British?"

"Mmm." Sherlock replied without taking his eyes from the page.

Sherlock continued ignoring the man, squirming a bit in his seat and turning to look plaintively at Watson. He was trying to be polite for her sake, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could contain himself.

"Headed to New York? You guys look like artist types..." the doofus smiled.

Watson came to the rescue. "Sherlock, I could use a cup of tea. Could you get me one?" She dug through her purse for her wallet.

Relief washed over Sherlock's face, "Certainly Watson. It'd be my pleasure."

"Hold up, I'll go with you. I'm out of seeds." His companion looked up at Mr. Trenchcoat and crooked her finger for him to come over. He bent and curved over her listening as she whispered to him. He shook his head no and turned back to Sherlock, "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

Watson looked up from her purse waiting for the acerbic response that was sure to tumble from Sherlock's mouth. The man in the trenchcoat looked at him like a large puppy, half smile on his face as he awaited Sherlock's response.

Sherlock had had enough. He stared directly at his irritant and spoke, "This act of yours, it isn't working, you know. Is this how you ingratiated yourself with suspects when you were with the FBI?"

Watson, the doofus and his red headed companion all stopped and silently stared at Sherlock. He exhaled and spewed out his observations. "You are ex-FBI, probably ousted for eccentricity of some manner. Your companion, possibly your wife, if not legally, then she is most certainly your wife by virtue of the amount of time she has spent tolerating you, is a doctor, FBI as well.

"Whoah! That's amazing. What are you, a clairvoyant? Or do you have a sixth sense, a guide into another dimension..."

A look of utter disgust at being compared to charlatans and fakes crossed Sherlock's face. "My partner, Watson, and I are consulting detectives. If you wish any further information please direct your questions to her." He picked up his journal once more forgetting all about Watson's requested tea.

"Mulder," the red-head piped up, "Come sit with me." She smiled in Watson's direction and pointed to her companion. "We've been working on his social skills for years."

Watson smiled back, "Believe me, I understand." Sherlock shot her an accusatory look.

"You refer to him by his last name?" Sherlock changed the subject, "You were partners?"

"Still are, right Scully?" Mulder shot a smile at her and gave her a small shoulder bump. She returned his smile and shook her head, that boyish charm still worked on her after all these years.

Sherlock took it all in and looked at Watson, his partner had no smile for him. "Do you still want your tea?"

Joan, shook her head, "No thanks Sherlock, maybe later."

"Sherlock? What kind of a name is that?" Mulder came across and sat back down next to Sherlock who gave him his best "I find you odious" face.

"You know, Fox, perhaps you should think before you ..." Scully's use of his first name made him cringe.

He cut her off. "Point taken, Scully, point taken." A look was exchanged between them acknowledging of an old issue long settled.

"Your name is Fox." Sherlock muttered. "Believer in clairvoyants, sixth senses ... Do you perhaps believe in aliens and ufos and the like?"

Both their companions froze. Watson spoke first, "Sherlock, that's just plain rude. You don't ask questions like that ..."

Scully piped in more to herself than anyone else, "Oh boy, here we go ..."

"Yeah, actually I do," Mulder was getting defensive, "Scully and I investigated and confirmed governmental conspiracies and alien colonization. In fact we've both been abducted... we can prove the existence of alien life, can't we?" He turned to his partner who had become completely engrossed in the buzzfeed personality test she was taking. She found admitting this sort of thing to strangers was always a mistake.

Sherlock twitched as the truth revealed itself to him. "You ... You are spookyFox42!" he turned to Watson, "Mr. Mulder frequents the conspiracy boards. He has some very intricate, almost believable ideas about alien colonization of..."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Mulder broke in. "I know you. I know that supercilious, sarcastic tone. You and I have had a number of conversations... right? You're Lock221bee!" Both men smiled at each other, shaking hands as if they'd found a long lost friend.

Watson looked at them and then at Scully. "I think I'm going to go get myself that cup of tea. Would you care to join me?"

"I'd love too, thank you." Both women packed up their laptops and stood. Mulder and Sherlock had fallen into an easy conversation.

"You know whose a real loon on that forum, Shelcoop2. He insists that the government is gathering information on members via tortoises and small rodents. He kind of reminds me of Frohike."

Sherlock was impressed, "Frohike? You knew the Lone Gunmen?"

Watson and Scully rolled their eyes at their companions, turned and walked away.