Esmeralda by InSilva
Disclaimer: own nothing Sherlocky.
His friend, Rhys, had started work at an obscure publishing house and asked him to attend the book launch for some scholarly tome. Rhys had promptly disappeared with a petite redhead but he didn't mind so much. He liked people-watching and there was plenty of opportunity for that. Besides. There were snacks.
Standing beside the table of canapés with a glass of pleasantly fizzy wine in his hand, he picked up an interesting-looking cheese and bacon concoction, bit into it and studied the half-empty room, humming quietly to himself.
An intense young woman in spectacles was in deep conversation with an elderly man who kept surreptitiously checking the time on his wristwatch. Over by the window, there were a couple of men in suits who were wrinkling their noses at the wine and were busy tipping it into a convenient pot-plant. And then there were the three girls – women, really – who had just arrived at the other end of the canapé table. Two stick-thin brunettes and a robust blonde who had seized a stick of celery and was busy brandishing it.
"I've told you, Delia, there's absolutely no chance. And don't give me that look, Charlotte." The celery was waved at the brunette on the right. "You know better than to ask."
Delia and Charlotte exchanged a look and walked away. The blonde sighed a heavy sigh and crunched the celery with a despondent air. He couldn't help noticing that from her side profile, she had very pretty features. He edged closer and cleared his throat.
"These are rather good." He pointed at the plate of cheese and bacon nibbles. "If you're looking for something to go with the celery."
She turned her head and there was a startled look at the interruption that melted away at once.
"Hello. Do I know you?"
Her eyes were very, very pale blue. And she was indeed very pretty.
"Not yet." He stretched out his hand. "William Holmes."
She frowned slightly and then shook it. Her handshake was firm and decisive and he liked her for that alone.
"Do you work for the book people?"
"No, no. My friend, Rhys, does. He asked me to come along." The words hesitated on his lips and then he threw caution to the winds and said them anyway. "I'm pleased I did."
It was a gentle little compliment but she didn't appear to understand it. Another reason to like her. She seemed utterly unaware of how gorgeous she was.
"Did your friends press-gang you into coming along too?"
"My friends? Oh, you mean Charlotte and Delia. They're not friends. They're just tiresome PR girls. Pestering the life out of me to go to some other do next week with them. I don't want to. Coming here was bad enough."
She crunched the celery absent-mindedly and then the blue eyes were focused on him.
"Is that too honest? People tell me I'm too honest. Like it's a bad thing."
"It's not a bad thing," he assured her. "Maybe sometimes people don't know how to react."
She nodded to herself as if digesting this thought.
"People might like to know your name though," he prompted gently. "I would at least."
"Esmeralda," she said. "My name's Esmeralda. My parents adored Victor Hugo."
He blinked. "Really?"
"No. It's Margaret Louise. Terribly unadventurous. Wouldn't you rather be called Esmeralda? If you were me, I mean?"
"You like Victor Hugo," he said with a perceptive smile.
She blushed charmingly. "My guilty pleasure. When I'm trying to work out a particular problem, I find it helps to read French prose. Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me."
She gave a girlish giggle and as she did so, he had one of those light-bulb moments of his that he could never properly explain.
"M. L. Carter. That's you."
"I know it is," she agreed.
He looked over her shoulder at the copies of the academic work displayed on the table.
"Wow," he said, sincerely impressed.
Her shoulders slumped a little. "You want to go and find someone else to talk to, that's fine."
"What?" He stared at her uncomprehendingly.
"I know chaps don't find this," she waved a vague hand which still held the celery in the direction of her book, "that appealing."
She was very wrong. He took a step closer to her. "Intelligence and good looks? I'd say that was a pretty sexy combination."
She blushed again. "Oh, you are a dreadful man."
"There's no one else I want to talk to. Esmeralda."
Her eyes were dancing now like a gypsy girl in the shadow of Notre-Dame. He wanted her to look like that at him forever.
"Can an author leave her own book launch early?"
"No idea," she said cheerfully. She dropped the half-eaten celery on the table and took his hand in hers. "Let's find out."