A Fine Match
A/N: This story references a character in another talented fan fiction writer's composition, AOB. Her name is Angel. To read more about this amazing Angel, check out AOB's story "Angel's Don't Die."
Prompt: "Met On The Internet"
Warnings: sarcasm
A thousand questions swirled around Sherlock's mind. What would she be like? Would she like him? And, most importantly, would she be bored by the real live version of him?
Perhaps they wouldn't have enough in common to carry on a coherent conversation? What if they both found themselves at a loss for words? Would they resent each other for such an awkward situation?
Seriously, what was he thinking when he agreed to her visit to 221B? The tall detective felt his fingers constrict cold and his palms sweat. What was that all about? Stupid body. How could he be nervous about meeting her? It was ridiculous. He was Sherlock Holmes, the great bohemian detective that was married to his work and remained free from relationships.
He scrubbed his sweaty palms through his thick raven hair, only amplifying his chaotic curls. Damn these musings! Irrational emotions! He was supposed to be above such fickle feelings.
Just then John came back from inspecting the flight arrival board. "Relax, Sherlock. It'll be fine. If you can chat for hours on the Internet forum regarding the minutia of the chemical properties of tobacco ash, you can certainly find something else in common."
Sherlock groaned. He wasn't convinced. People were too unpredictable. Relationships were messy, prone to a whole host of uncomfortable misunderstandings.
John gave his edgy flat mate a soft jab in the ribs with his elbow causing the younger man to stumble momentarily. "Pay attention, genius," he chuckled, "I think I see her." John gave an almost imperceptible low whistle. "Not bad. For a borderline antisocial psychopath who swears he isn't into women, she's a fine looking specimen of the female gender."
Sherlock didn't bother to reply. His keen face scanned the crowds of passengers tunnelling out of customs. At last, he resolutely shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled as nonchalantly as possible over to a blond, athletic looking female dressed in jeans and an attractive pink shirt. She looked as if she'd be as much at home in the gymnasium as the opera house.
"Angel?" Sherlock reached out a hand to the confused passenger, trying to keep any hesitation out of his voice.
"Ah, Sherlock," Angel spun round and smiled up at the tall detective, vibrant energy shivered through every fibre of her being. "Pleasure to meet you in real life at last."
She tilted her head and examined him critically from head to toe. "Not half bad." With a twinkle in her clear blue eyes she continued. "I'll give you a p-value greater than or equal to 0.05."
Sherlock gave a start. This must qualify as one of the most unique compliments he'd received. Thinking quickly, he replied, "Glad to hear such. So, you fail to reject me just yet then?"
The golden haired Angel rewarded Sherlock with a prim nod and a wink. "Of course, statistics are never static. I retain my claim to re-calculate your p-value as the facts reveal themselves. I must warn you that like the late Isaac Asimiov, I find people who think they know everything to be a great annoyance to those of us who do'."
Sherlock blinked. Interesting. He picked up her luggage and together they threaded their way through the crowds toward the exit of the airport. His mind rapidly took in her details, deducing. There was more to this woman than met the initial eye.
On the drive back to their flat, Angel sat alert and curious but said very little. She answered John's friendly questions of 'where are you from? What do you do?' with a soft succinct answer. Sherlock was too busy analyzing the situation and the real life version of his Internet friend to bother speaking out loud.
With an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, John tried to excuse his silent friend. "I'm sorry about him. He gets like this sometimes. He can think for days without talking. It's nothing personal."
Angel smiled with a deviant smirk in return. "It's perfectly ok. I understand. Besides," she paused for a moment, turning to glance up at the silent brooding genius opposite her, "I make it a habit never to judge anyone because they're overly quiet."
John smiled with relief. Glad she understood.
Then Angel finished her sentence. "No one plans a murder out loud, after all." She raised an elegant eyebrow and rewarded them both with a grin.
John laughed. He had no doubt that the two would get along swimmingly.
A/N: Dedicated to all those wonderful friendships formed online through a mutual interest in the esoteric and mysterious. Some we meet in-person; some we never will; either way, thankful for such bonds that break the cords of ennui!