The Case of the Waterlogged Violinist

Chapter 7

I paced back and forth; the rhythm of my feet became my obsession. After reaching the wall, I flicked the end of my robe behind me and began again.

"For god's sake, Sherlock, stop," John shouted.

I turned towards him. "Why hasn't my master contacted me?"

John sighed. "Perhaps, he's waiting for you to lose your mind."

I waved him off. "It's too late for that. Also, why do you assume my master is a man?"

John set his teacup down with a clatter. I watched some of the brown liquid slosh out of the cup. Its progress kept me entertained until it reached its destination—the floor. The sound of his voice startled me. "Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because women tend to be prompt and courteous and men don't"

I rolled my eyes. "John, you're babbling, basing your observations on personal experience rather than facts. It distresses me to witness your thought processes in such disarray. I'm going for a swim, care to join me?"

He looked at me. "Are you going to wear trunks?"

"No, no one cares if I take a dip in the nude."

"Well, I'm not going in the water with you unless you put on a pair of trunks or pants."

I walked to the sliding glass door, shrugging out of my robe. "John, you're a medical Doctor, who can name every bone in my body, why are you so hung up on nudity?"

John looked down then up again. "I'm not hung up on nudity."

My eyes narrowed. "Maybe it's just my nudity...that you're hung...up on."

"Oh, for god's sake I'm not hung up."

"Hmm, whatever you say, John." I put a finger to my lips, suppressing a chuckle.

I stepped outside, smiling when the sun's warmth hit my skin. I stretched, then dove into the water. Sounds became muffled. I drifted along the bottom of the pool, feeling the lumps and bumps in the cement with the ends of my fingers. I swam back and forth between the shallow and deep end, coming up for air when needed. I wonder how long I can hold my breath. I dove under, disappointed when I had to surface after 15 seconds. Come on Sherlock, you can do better. I took another deep breath, then plunged under the surface again. I cleared my mind, focusing on the underwater environment. Bubbles floated past me. I ignored the burning in my chest. Just a few seconds more. I swirled on my back, fascinated with the way the sunlight fanned out in cauliflower shaped clouds.

"Sherlock," a voice called.

I closed my eyes.

"Sherlock," the voice called again.

With a splash, my underwater world dispersed in a group of bubbles. I can't breathe. In an instant, the water became a place of terror and death. Strong arms pulled me to safety. When my head crested above the water, I gasped. I leaned into the embrace of my rescuer.

John helped me out of the pool. I shivered, while he took my pulse. He looked into my eyes and grimaced. Then he slapped me hard across the face. Tears sprang up in my eyes. I rubbed the place where he'd made contact.

He threw a towel in my direction, then got down on his knees, his face a few inches from my own. "You're heading down a path of self-destruction, Sherlock. You need to stop whatever you're doing and swear to me that..."

"A package for Sherlock," Irene sang out.

I wobbled to my feet. Thank god, saved again. I approached Irene, taking the long box from her hands. "Can you open it for me?" I asked.