The Case of the Waterlogged Violinist

Chapter 4

The limo made its way across the Coronado bridge. I felt lost, out of touch—not in my element. The sun had burnt away the morning fog and I shrank from its rays.

John smiled at me. "It's really quite nice here, isn't it? Do you mind if I roll down the window a bit?"

I took a deep breath. "Whatever, pleases you, John. It makes no difference to me." I opened my mouth, then shut it. John had his head out the window. His shock of white hair blowing in the breeze. Well, I was going to say something to piss on his good mood, but he looks so...adorable?

"Adorable."

John looked at me. "Did you just call me adorable?"

I felt my face heat up. "No, why would I say that?"

John shrugged. "I just heard you say, 'adorable.'"

"I was thinking. I say adorable and you automatically assume I'm talking about you. I think it's time you examine your ego issues."

John sat back, widening his eyes. "Seriously, you're talking to me about ego issues? You're the most egotistical, prideful person I know."

I sniffed. "You exaggerate."

"Oh no, don't pull the dramatic pout on me. Who attempted to jump over a wall on our last case, ending up with a shattered ankle? You almost took a poison pill from a crazed cabbie, when we first met. You've taunted every psychopath we've ever run across."

My thoughts drifted from one scenario to another, until they ended where they always did—water. I scratched the sides of my face. Mary dead, blood everywhere. "Norbury, my fault Norbury."

John grabbed my wrist. "Sherlock, stop. You know I don't blame you, don't you?"

"How could you not? I still do," I whispered.

His fingers encircled my wrist, guiding it down until it rested in my lap. "Sherlock, I wish you would tell me what this is really all about."

I glanced at my hands. If I knew, I would tell you. "Let's stop talking, it complicates things."

John reached out, patting my shoulder.

"John, stop touching me."

"Sorry, your Highness, I'll ask next time."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Better not, the driver might misconstrue the situation and we all know how you value your heterosexual label."

"You act like it's a bad thing—being heterosexual."

"Did I say it's a bad thing. Quit putting words in my mouth."

"I'm not going to put words or anything else in your mouth."

I smirked. "John, now the driver will talk."

John leaned back. "Oh god, you're right. Let's stop talking."

My shoulders began to shake and I hid my face in the corner of the seat.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you laughing?" He moved around to look at my face. "You are—laughing. You're such an immature prick."

"John you're so easy."

"Oh yeah?" John looked around until he found the mini bar. He rummaged around, grabbing a bottle of soda water.

I watched him shake it up. "You'd better be getting ready to have a scotch and soda."

He smiled. "And if I'm not?"