The Case of the Waterlogged Violinist

Chapter 8

I watched John while he stitched up the cut on my forehead. "John quit fussing. I'm fine.

His hands dropped to his sides. "Okay, right, but don't lie to me. I know you're not fine. Sherlock, what are you on?"

I looked down, immersing myself in the design on the carpet. What were the people doing? I smirked. Irene's a very naughty girl. "John, have you taken the time to examine the carpet?"

John glanced to where I pointed. His face colored. "Yes, I've seen the carpet and yes I know what they're doing. Although I'm surprised, you noticed it. Hold on quit attempting to divert me. What are you on?"

"Just pain pills," I answered.

"And what pain pills are those?" John pursed his lips like a fish.

"The ones I got from the pharmacy, of course."

John held out his hand. "Okay, let me see."

"Um, they're here somewhere." I began to look under my pillow and other places around my room. "Well, I can't seem to locate them. When I find them, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Sherlock, you're such a manipulative liar. How can I trust you?"

I smiled. "You can't. Suffice it to say I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my health."

John snorted. "That's a crock, and we both know it."

"John, I'd love to continue this argument, but I've got a call coming in from my master."

We both listened when I pressed the play button. "Thus far, you have pleased me. However, I am not pleased that Doctor Watson came with you. You will owe me something for that. I thought I indicated that I wanted you to come alone...Sherlock." The transmission cut off.

John's eye's widened. "Christ, Sherlock, that pyscho knows your name."

I rubbed my hands together. "My master's taken the bait, John."

"What bait?"

"I'm the bait, and I'm certain my master is Lucien's killer."

John's eye widened. "Sherlock, you can't be serious. We need to get the police involved."

I rolled my eyes. "John, in case you've forgotten Lestrade is in London. We are in California. We don't have police contacts here. Besides we're perfectly capable of handling this ourselves."

John's eyebrows rose. "Oh, so it's we now? The other day, you made it clear you didn't need me."

I sighed. "John, you should know better than to listen to me, especially when I've been goaded into losing my temper. I need you now—always."

John shook his head. "Sherlock, only you can give an insult and compliment in the same sentence. Fine, what's our next move?"

I steepled my fingers together, placing them against my lips. "Though the thought of waiting is tortuous, we must do it."

John remained silent. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, noting his rigid posture. "John, everything is going to be okay," I whispered.

He bowed his head. "Sherlock, do you know that in some ways, your loss was deeper than Mary's? She went quickly, protecting a person she loved. When I thought you'd jumped, I assumed..." John took a deep breath, then continued on. "I assumed that you felt so alone and distraught that you had to end it all. I blamed myself. Scenarios went around and around in my head on how I could have helped you, but in the end, you were dead. I can't tell you how many times I wept at your tombstone. I couldn't save you. I felt helpless, and that's how I feel now. Sherlock, I can't lose you again."