Tony Stark did not need his girlfriend and ex-boss to get snippy with him when he calmly and quite rationally explained that he was utterly bored with all of the current Stark Industry projects. He really didn't need her comeback that if he didn't find something to keep him busy that she'd find something for him. And he certainly didn't need her to set him up on a "play date" with another genius in some vain attempt to make him "stop complaining for once in his spoiled life," her exact words.
And so, despite the fact that he didn't need any of these things, Tony found himself tapping his foot impatiently as he sat in a corner table at a Starbucks in midtown, waiting for a certain Sherlock Holmes to show his face. The Starbucks he was supposed to meet this supposed magician of logic in was as nondescript as any other coffeehouse in the city, overly-designed minimalism with pretentious art and even more pretentious art students in every corner. Tony was doing his best to ignore it all, tapping away at his Starkphone as he sipped at an eggnog latte, the only redeeming part of the Christmas season in his opinion.
He flipped to the calender of the phone, checking the clock for about the twentieth time in the last two minutes. Tony had only been fifteen minutes late, a minor miracle in his opinion, and so far this Holmes guy hadn't even shown his face. Some genius if he couldn't even tell the time. Not that Tony had bothered looking for him when he came in and got his coffee. If this Holmes was as good as Pep said, then he could find Tony himself.
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And so, despite the fact that he didn't need any of these things, Tony found himself tapping his foot impatiently as he sat in a corner table at a Starbucks in midtown, waiting for a certain Sherlock Holmes to show his face. The Starbucks he was supposed to meet this supposed magician of logic in was as nondescript as any other coffeehouse in the city, overly-designed minimalism with pretentious art and even more pretentious art students in every corner. Tony was doing his best to ignore it all, tapping away at his Starkphone as he sipped at an eggnog latte, the only redeeming part of the Christmas season in his opinion.
He flipped to the calender of the phone, checking the clock for about the twentieth time in the last two minutes. Tony had only been fifteen minutes late, a minor miracle in his opinion, and so far this Holmes guy hadn't even shown his face. Some genius if he couldn't even tell the time. Not that Tony had bothered looking for him when he came in and got his coffee. If this Holmes was as good as Pep said, then he could find Tony himself.