The Aegean Sea glittered a beautiful blue-green in the midafternoon sun. It always reminded the detective of his mother's eyes, while others might say it reminded them of his own. Sherlock Holmes had spent many a summer in his youth looking out over, sailing on, or swimming in these very waters. His family owned a small villa on this particular Greek island, "villa" being a rather over-inflated term, he believed, for a relatively small three bedroom cottage overlooking the sea.
He had stopped visiting these islands years ago, shortly after his days at uni and his descent into drug use. Such beautiful surroundings did not seem the appropriate venue for his foray into self-destruction, after all. The last time he had returned to the area had been during his two-year "death', tracking down one of Moriarty's minions, a Greek smuggler with ties to a Mediterranean drug cartel, but during that time he was hardly staying at a comfortable cottage by the sea.
Sherlock Holmes stood in the shade of a tree at the edge of a white sandy beach, looking as if he were dressed for undercover work. He had tried sitting down, but couldn't quite get comfortable. Gone were the custom fitted suit and the tightly tailored shirt which was his London uniform, replaced by baggy cargo shorts, and a loose fitting shirt of white cotton so finely woven that it appeared opaque in the bright sunlight. He looked nervously down the beach toward the small town and its shops, trying to spot the approach of his warden. He stepped further onto the sand to get a better look, but the sunlight made him uncomfortable. Any observer would have immediately noticed that skin visible on his face and neck was glowing a bright red from too much exposure. As a child, his Mummy had kept his fair skin slathered in enough sunscreen to prevent even the fires of hell from leaving their mark. He had always been amazed that he had not simply slipped out of the water each time he had tried to enter! Evidently, he had never come to terms with this vulnerability of his, and had neglected to take the same precautions.
Not seeing anyone in sight, he reached into one large pocket of his shorts, pulling out a packet of French cigarettes, quickly placing one between his lips, and lighting it. He puffed impatiently, eager to finish before he was discovered. Left to his own devices, Sherlock would have been happily ensconced at Baker Street, enjoying himself immensely. But his warden had different ideas. Not only had he been forced to fly almost fifteen hundred miles, from the chill spring of a London he loved to this sunbaked, albeit quite beautiful, island, but he had also been required to spend at least four hours each day outside his cottage, and his bedroom. There were to be no experiments, outside of some pretty basic biological ones, and no smoking! So, for four hours each day, for the past three days, Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, had been forced to meander quaint street, peruse shops, dine in out of the way tavernas, drink ouzo with the locals, and generally not behave as himself. And smiling was to be expected. He knew he would smile a lot more if he were back in his bedroom, here, in the cottage by the sea, or in London.
Sherlock put the cigarette out just in time, as he soon spotted a rather small figure trudging along the white sand toward him, carrying a small sack of groceries and other supplies.
"Did you find anything?"
"I did get some aloe vera gel, Sherlock. And the lady in the shop recommended this," the small woman said as she held up a large container of plain yogurt.
"Molly, am I supposed to eat that whole thing?"
"No, not unless you're hungry," she smiled at him. "She said to apply it to the sunburn, leave it on for at least five minutes, then remove it. It's supposed to help your skin recover, and ease the burn a bit."
"This is all your fault, you know. You were the one decided we had to go out for at least four hours a day! We could have just stayed at the cottage, in the bedroom, and relaxed…"
"What you had in mind was hardly relaxing, Sherlock. In fact, it was getting a bit exhausting! And why come to Greece in the first place if all you were going to do was stay in the bedroom…"
"My point exactly, Molly! We could have had a perfectly acceptable sex holiday in London…"
"I prefer the term 'honeymoon', you git. It doesn't sound so disreputable…"
"There is nothing disreputable about two newly married people getting to know each other better…"
"Twenty hours a day is quite sufficient to do that, Sherlock. Please don't begrudge me my four hours a day of sightseeing and memory building!..."
"I was building memories, too, Molly," Sherlock said, with some degree of sincerity. "I merely tried to combine the two occupations…"
"By seducing me on the terrace!"
"It was outdoors, Molly. As per our agreement."
"Someone could have seen us!"
"Only if they were in a boat off the point, Molly. Or in a helicopter. I didn't hear the whirring of helicopter blades, did you?"
"I wasn't really paying much attention, Sherlock, after you removed your shorts and climbed onto the chaise longue with me!" Molly Hooper, now Holmes, smiled at the memory. "But really, love, at the height of the afternoon! With all that sunlight pouring down! What were you thinking?"
"Well, obviously, I wasn't exactly thinking, Molly. Who ever thinks that their bum is so vulnerable to the rays of the sun. Really, why would that occur to me when I was so, uh, pleasantly occupied with other matters?"
Molly Hooper grabbed her new husband's arm to lead him back up the rocky path to his parents' cottage, which they had so generously lent them for their sex holiday, or, as some would say, honeymoon. "We may have to stay in for a day or so, it seems, as you cannot sit down on anything harder than a feather cushion, Sherlock."
"Then I am a truly fortunate man, in the fact that my wife is so soft…"
"And also willing to rub aloe vera on your exceedingly red bottom?"
"You do remember the 'sickness and health' part of the vows, don't you, Molly?" Sherlock put an arm around his wife's waist, and pulled her closer. "What about the yogurt?"
"It tastes better than aloe vera, Sherlock," Molly said with a wink and a smile, then skipped ahead toward the cottage on the cliff.