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It was a rare thing when Sherlock actually wanted to meet with someone. Not to say he had never experienced the desire. There was more than enough people in the world that had intrigue but they were rarer than the opposite. Nevertheless, he managed to wrap up a case and head off so fast Joan couldn't even catch him. She was, of course, unbearably curious but Sherlock, of course, wouldn't tell her.

He showed up twenty minutes pate looking horribly slapdash. A horrifying Christmas sweater, broken down jeans, just as busted shoes, old coat with that single shilling pin and red scarf. His hair just sort of everywhere. Come to think of it, considering the surrounding customers? Sherlock blended in great. He ordered a coffee, just a coffee, and made his way over. The cup hits the table with a small think and he's smiling a little awkwardly as his hand reached out to shake because for the first time in such a long time Holmes is nervous. Excitedly nervous. A chance to speak with THE Tony Stark? He wouldn't miss it for the world.

"Terribly sorry," comes the accent. "Finishing up a case. Murderers these days. No sense of proper timing. Sherlock Holmes."

'The' Tony Stark was decidedly less nervous about meeting someone who was, in all he has heard, a one-trick pony masquerading as a genius. Something that, as a certified real genius himself he took things like this quite seriously. One eyebrow arched over his sunglasses as he looks over the clear glass of the tablet phone at the disheveled man in front of him and the hand offered in greeting. Maybe this guy was a genius, or at least a mental case, both had a tendency to look a little homeless at times. And he had worn Armani today, albeit a more dressed down charcoal gray suit with white collared shirt. Beneath, his 1973 Led Zeppelin tour shirt--an original of course--only a hint of the red sky and blue blimp peeking out from the unbuttoned collar.

"Murderers, huh? Interesting company you keep, Mr. Holmes," He shrugged lightly, taking Sherlock's hand and shaking it firmly. After letting go, he motioned to the seat across from him, "Tony Stark. But I'm sure you knew that, being the genius at deduction that you are."

"Interesting company I keep off of New York's streets," correction; and he took this time when Tony stood to give him one look-over. Although it wasn't obvious, Sherlock was good at being extremely discrete when he was watching people. In a matter of seconds, Stark had already lived up to his facade. Arrogant, believing himself the better than most about him. Surely he's justified it with the fact that, out of the general population, his mental prowess is far beyond 99% of them. Yet he bragged it and people who bragged it often lacked something deeper. Compensation, and so what was Tony compensating for? Sherlock knew about Afghanistan, the turn from weaponry to clean energy, the war and his father Howard Stark. Of course he did, Holmes made a point to stalk those of his kin (interesting, intelligent, broken (addicts)).

What is Tony Stark if not for his intelligence? He has a way to woo, uses it less than he used to but still does, but does he care - at all - about any of the company he keeps at his side or in his bed? Unlikely. Can't stop thinking. PhDs in Physics and Electrical Engineering -- seemingly an insomniac with the amount of creation that comes from him annually.

He noted the cut of the suit jacket. The shirt, could distinguish it immediately. A classic rock fan. Vintage? Possibly, too early to tell. A need to keep appearance but the high-end labels aren't him, not really. And as for Sherlock? Well. Looking homeless and/or 'normal' befit him more than not. And what to tell from the shake? Well, Holmes' grip wasn't flimsy nor overdone. Firm just the same, a single shake. Strong, to the point. Then gone.

"I also deducted that beneath your rich exterior lies a man with very few meaningful connections; but those few are ones he'd die for. I'd wager you would take to bonding with your inventions before the people around you and that's not just because you invented them, you're not that vain you just pretend to be. It's because there's a lethally small margin of people who can keep your mind stimulated enough to fulfill what you need in a relationship or who see beneath your mask - Potts, for example. Which further then explains why you've taken to alcohol to sooth over that feeling of misplacement while remaining in character of the fun-loving party hound genius. No one wants to hear about yet another genius' life going down the toilet."

He sits, and links his hands on the table. Eyes not moving from the man across.

"That's far too typical, and the public doesn't want typical, and you," he makes a point with one finger, "hate the idea that there just might be other people out there in the world like you. You like the attention of being one of a kind because similar to all men and women who are gifted with heightened intelligence they traveled through life without a single friend. You intimidated most of your peers and they hated you for making them look dull so your intelligence went without praise. Instead it was feared. This was up until you realized you had a certain presence, likely in high-school. Using your happy-go-lucky charm and copious amounts of wealth you founded your mask."

He motions with his hand to the man.

"This new and improved Tony Stark. Billionaire philanthropist, and the bitter child bit the dust but he neve really did, did he? He just hid away from the public eye."

Sherlock nods to the shirt, "Original?"

Edited 2012-12-23 14:16 (UTC)

Tony is silent as he listens to his life story, not the specific events but the tone--the ostracism at MIT for being just a bit "too good," only solved by throwing himself into the limelight, into parties and blackout drinking--DUM-E, the only one who's never abandoned him for someone a little less broken, a little less intimidating--of course Tony had to create that sort of loyalty himself, or pay for it in the case of Pepper and Rhodey through favors, new tech, credit cards with no spending limits. He listens to another man tell him things about himself that no one should know--not the events themselves, but their motivations--and his expression grows noticeably colder. He isn't going to let Mr. Holmes think he's won this first round, and it's just rude to spill all your coffee date's secrets before they can even ask you about yours.

He closes a newspaper application on the tablet, open to the latest in Hammer Tech news, with a flick of his fingers as he sits across from Sherlock, taking a drag from his latte before he reaches up to pluck the sunglasses from his face, folding them and hooking the earpiece into the pocket of his suit. He leans back, body language laid back yet alert, shoulders squared and head cocked slightly to the side.

"I'm impressed, but you forgot genius playboy in that little catchphrase.

I'm impressed that a man like you picked up a tabloid in the past three months. Sun Times? World News? People, despite their stellar reputation, did a rather extensive spread on my 'womanizing ways,' my 'alcoholism,' and how they're breaking Pep's heart.

You're not nearly as good as you think you are, Mr. Holmes. I didn't go to high school. Skipped straight to MIT, graduated Maxima Cum Laude when I was 17," Tony laughs dryly, a wave of his hand dismissing the genius's deductions even as that dismissal only makes their accuracy far more clear to anyone able to read between the lines--like Holmes himself.

"And of course it's original. I don't settle for knock-offs, counterfeits, or cheap party tricks," Tony can't help one last jab, an attempt to knock Sherlock off of his game before the 'detective' can start picking at issues that really matter.

Edited 2012-12-23 18:41 (UTC)

Amazing. Sherlock leans back as well with a small smile. Its not the first time someone told him he isn't as good as he thinks he is, he's not bothered by it. Instead, intrigued. That - if Stark was telling the truth - he has skipped High-School entirely. That would have been moreorless around the same time he was in high-school and therefore in London. There's one way to find out.

The transition of his one hand down to his lap and out of Tony's sight is seamless. At some point he'll touchbase with a someone who can uproute the truth on that matter. Until then, he takes a sip of his coffee (with the left)

"Womanizing in passed tense." That left am plants its elbow in to the table. The minor shift allows a bit of the ink at his wrist to show. Finger and thumb pinch together and subconsciously rub. "If it's any consolation, I've followed your work with nothing but the utmost respect and in regard to your specialties Mr. Stark, I take no personal offence admitting I am completely outmatched. See, small talk is not a specialty of mine."

Edited 2012-12-23 21:27 (UTC)

Like most heirs to wealth and power, Tony had attended boarding schools. Multiple. School after boarding school, all the most elite, all promising to turn out cultured, educated young adults groomed for success in business. None of them had known what to do with a kid that was more interested in the inner workings of an engine, the inner workings of the newest computers (still a room large at that time) than history, philosophy or culture. Not to mention his fondness for pranks. And so kicked out of one, Howard sent him to another for the cycle to start over before they finally found him intelligent enough for college when he was finishing middle school, handed him a diploma, and declared him out of their hair.

Tony doesn't bother to hide his own tinkering with his cell, flicking open a new blueprint for a renovation of the core in the larger arc reactor that powered his building. He does laugh at Sherlock's comment, ending it with a long drink of the coffee, "Of course past. You met Pep, and you know how I feel about my head remaining attached to the rest of my body. I don't dally without permission."

It's not a complete admission of fidelity, but it's certainly more than his past self would ever allow. Perhaps Pepper has been a bit more of a calming influence on the wild child inventor than even Tony would admit.

"Small talk is no one's specialty except for politicians and con artists," He smirks knowingly, "Which doesn't explain why you don't like it. But, I'll allow you your idiosyncrasies. So. It's always nice to meet a fan--but, I do have to ask. Which do you prefer, my old or my new stuff?" The weapons or the clean energy.

Stark wasn't the only one who was born to wealth and power. Perhaps yet another similarity. Holmes' father practically was the government but that was in England. He's said the reason for moving here was that American criminals had a certain something and that was true enough but it wasn't the full facts. It was actually a small margin of it. Truth enough, with all Sherlock's brashness he still had a proper about him. He, on the other hand - while taking interest in other pursuits - fit the glove of rich and proper British perfectly. He knew the violin and piano, he likes opera, fine dining and arts, but that was just a sample of his enjoyments (and things that few knew about anymore).

"Professional and natural," as if to say that the vast majority of persons who understand the methods of small talk might not professionally be politicians or con artists but they could be of they tried. There is some very vague amusement when he mentions about Pepper but he tucks it away because it lead to -- well. That was done and over with.

"Do you like it?" Small talk, that is. Phone sliding away and resuming its post to link with the other. This answer was barely even a question, for Sherlock, who knew much how to hold a gun and how to shoot one but dreads ever needing to and makes quite a point to have none of them in the house. Ever.

"Your technologies interest me more than either, to be frank. One less lethal weaponry creator in the world, I'd look at it as a good thing. It never stops others from trying to compete. Do you ever consider returning to it?"

"No. I'm too fond of transparency to like watching people lie about themselves to each other in order to make friends. At least without alcohol involved," Tony dismisses the topic with an easy joke.

"My technologies aren't meant for the general public, at least not for the next decade. Please, the new iPhone just came out, and people camped out for days as if they were actually excited for it. You're not ready for next StarkTab," Tony scoffs, "But, I do appreciate a fan of my lesser known works."

Stark Industries is famous for its efforts to clean energy, renewable resources, infamous for its weapons, but it's really the day-to-day tech advances that keep the company afloat. StarkPhones rival Samsung and Apple in the market, while StarkTabs remain a playtoy of the truly technology savvy--those who have time to devote to modding and personalization find that Tony Stark's tablets rival full size systems for speed and performance, all with a sleek, truly minimalist design. The one on the table in front of Tony himself is a few generations ahead of what he's handed over to R&D right now--his own personal toy.

"Ah, but there is a lot you can tell about someone in their lies. Should you know how to spot them.' he mentions and then slides his own phone to the table. It's an iPhone, of course, but Sherlock doesn't have it for the name. He did have a Windows 7. It couldn't keep up, but iPhone wasn't much better to be honest. Clearer camera which was what he needed.

"People," he starts, "not to be confused with me, line up for this," a finger taps the phone in gesture, "because it has a reputation not because it's worth-while. the great thing about Apple is that it's simple. Silve-platter children love it because everything is right there. It's boring. I could take it apart piece by piece and put it back together in a matter of moments, Mr. Stark. Jobs and his innovative technologies hardly impresses me. It's trendy. Not practical and certainly not praise-worthy."

Tony picks up the iPhone, flipping it over in his hands. He makes a face at the screen, turning it on edge to roll his eyes at the thickness of the phone, "Rich kids love it because they're just as vapid as any other teenager. And my tech intimidates them."

"So, you know your tech. That's clear. Maybe not as well as you know people though. So, why the hell did Pepper decide to arrange this little rendezvous? Serious question by the way," he pauses, leaning forward slightly to slide the phone back across the table, "Actually. Do your little deduction thing. About Pep."

He doesn't seem derisive in his request, simply curious--and very used to getting what he wants.

"A compliment, I'll take it as." There's a faint smirk on his lips as he finished the coffee and let it slide back down to the table. A chance to show off? Certainly.

"Pepper Potts," he hums and lets his fingers slide onto the table and tap a moment. "She's very analytical, organized, neat, punctual, strait to the point, practical and professional. Everything you'd want in a personal accountant. I'd dare to even say that she was an accountant before landing her job by your side. Yet while her professional life has made her a star she endures a bit of struggle in social affairs. I'd even say that the common social gathering would be a business related one. Outside of work, it's lonely. Her dedication and brilliance is what brought her to you and her inability to meld with the dullards of typical social welfare is what made her loyal to you," a point, "being the sharp eye, she too noticed your mask you wrap up in alcohol and womanizing but her incredible amounts of patience lasted it out. She doesn't do what she does for money, she does what she does because she cares about it and she's good at it."

Sherlock takes a moment. His head tips upwards in thought. "I'd say that she grew up in a middle-class and average family."

It's far easier to hear those sorts of intimate details about another person, and Tony nods along with the assessment, a snort of laughter as Sherlock mentions the 'dullards of typical social welfare.' He pauses as Sherlock talks about her patience, chuckling under his breath as he taps at the StarkTab on the table, "That reminds me. I guess I should try to remember to get her a birthday present this year. Considering she's my boss and my girlfriend now."

He cocks his head at Sherlocks confession of her social awkwardness, arguing, "So, you think she doesn't like parties? Why organize so many of them then? And she's always the one dragging me along to charity balls and all of that high-society bullshit."

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