The Case of the Waterlogged Violinist

Chapter 5

I looked at John, attempting not to laugh when he unraveled the bowtie around his neck, tossing it to the ground. "I'll never get the hang of these bloody things."

I stepped towards him. "Would you like me to assist?"

He glared at me, picking up the tie. "Yes, nurse, please."

I smirked, pausing before I stepped into his personal space. "Okay, let's get this done, shall we?" He held still, allowing my deft fingers to uncoil the knots in the tie's silken folds. I leaned against him, reaching my hands around to complete the task.

"Your leg still bothering you?" John asked.

I nodded. "Now hold still and stop talking." I took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent of soap and aftershave. A few adjustments later, and the tie's silken folds fanned out in stiff points. I placed my hands on his shoulders, looking at our reflection in the mirror. John stared back at me.

"Well, "Irene purred. "Isn't that lovely?"

John shoved away from me, my hands fell to my sides, causing me to stumble. I righted myself, ignoring John's offer of help.

Irene pursed her lips, watching us with an amused glint in her eye, then she held out a leather collar. "Which one of you is going to wear this?"

John held up his hands. "Get that thing away from me."

Irene pouted. "Doctor Watson, I thought soldiers liked discipline."

John batted the collar towards Irene. "Not that kind."

Irene then approached me. "Sherlock?"

I ignored her.

She wiggled it in front of me. "Come on Sherlock, it's not like you haven't worn it before."

My face flushed. "I'm going to be playing my violin tonight and I can't perform with that thing around my neck."

Irene laughed. "Who says you're going to be performing tonight?"

I sniffed. "How else am I going to fit in?"

Irene placed a red, manicured nail beneath my chin. "You need to wait until you're asked."

I met her gaze. "What if I'm never—asked."

She raked her nails, in a gentle path down my neck. "Oh, don't worry, you will be—asked. I'll see to it."

Chill bumps rose up on my arms. I stood still, enjoying the sensation of being touched.

John cleared his throat. "Are we ready to go?"

I opened my eyes, focusing on John beneath hooded lids.

Irene chuckled. "I do believe the Doctor's jealous."

John twisted his head, attempting to loosen the collar of his shirt with two fingers. "I am not—jealous."

Irene bit on her lower lip. "We've had this conversation before, Doctor."

John began to pace in short aggravated steps. "And I set you straight. Do I have to say it again? For the record if anyone out there is listening, I'm not, nor have I ever been—gay. I like women"

I stepped forward. "Yes, I was listening then. I heard you loud and clear, John." An awkward silence ensued, making me long for rapid gunfire or an explosion. Why aren't they saying anything? I hate this kind of tension. It's a waste of time. Fine, I'll use the Holmes strategy—ignore it, walk away and—leave. I left the room without a word. A sense of freedom enveloped me, when I opened the front door. I noted the tendrils of fog that spiraled around the roof, and smiled. The house would soon be enveloped in their white, moist coils.