Guys I'm so sorry for being so late on these matters. I hope you can be patient with me. This chapter is short, and I wanted to just give you something, better than nothing.
I am struggling but I haven't given up.
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CHAPTER 7
The sun had gotten ready to set as they left the pool area and walked back to their cabins. Alex and Louie tagged along for a short time, but veered off quite suddenly to the trails in the small foliage claiming to want to get a better view of the sun.
Sherlock had his white towel wrapped around his neck and his coat thrown on over his damp skin. He clicked away on his phone, "delightful evening."
"Until Alex was on the high board," John laughed, "naked and bellyflopping was unnecessary."
"Very."
They walked on and found themselves at the door when Sherlocks phone rang and he answered, "No, Lestrade we won't be taking in more cases."
There were pauses where he would get a response, "Of course it was obvious-no I can't say we are-keep that information to yourself. Oh, good the families getting back together how nice? Dinner party at my house or yours?"
John squinted his eyes and lead them inside.
Sherlock continued, "I'm a smart ass remember? . . , No . . .No . . . .We refuse."
"Refuse what? The other cases?"
"Fine, just fine. Nothing worth sharing." Sherlock then hung up and went straight to texting someone.
"Lestrade needs me for a double homicide case that took place eleven years ago."
"Why now?"
He got a look over his phone, "The victim was found alive."
"Sounds like something up your ally then? Why not take it?"
"I've already spent the money on the full week,"
"We aren't even sure if Daniel did what he did," John hesitated as Sherlock gave him a look, "alright yeah, your the only one so sure. But, I think you should take this one,"
"Not that interested," he answered, then grabbed his dry clothes and took the liberty to drop his wet ones in a pile beside the bed, "say cheese." He held his phone up and didn't give much time before snapping a photo of John as he stood over his bag.
"What was that for?"
"Settling a bet." He said as he went into the bathroom.
John rolled his eyes and took out his dry robe to wrap around himself, the chill of the air conditioner had his arms full of goosebumps. "What was that about family Sherlock?"
"Anderson got back from his trip,"
"He was only gone a week, so what?"
Sherlock emerged from the bathroom with a pair of his long pajama pants and his own robe loosely tied around his waist, "So did Sally,"
"Oh, you think they were using the business trips as an excuse to shack up?"
"Hmm, I'm glad you see it too."
"Why are they still sneaking, it's no longer a secret."
"The moment they do, I'd need different blackmail."
John saw the time was later than he had thought and yawned despite himself. Swimming took a lot out of him. He set his things in the corner and headed to the fridge for another water and he joined Sherlock in front of his accumulating crime board surrounding Daniel. "We still going to break into their cabin tomorrow?"
"Yes, I still need a solid motive. He also got very nervous when I asked about his wife being gay. Take a look at these pictures."
The ones he pointed at were of their wedding and how she let the veil fall over her face, her dress loose and frilly. They looked happy. "You think she was?"
"Transgendered, yes. Look at her, she's obviously a he."
"So, he didn't like that his, uh . . . Husband, wanted to be a girl so bad? Is that a good enough motive?"
"No," Sherlock took the picture from the wall, "he wouldn't have married her if he'd been uncomfortable. Unless it was premeditated, which is unlikely due to how it was achieved, than I'm sure he loved her."
"Yes, Daniel did sound like he was sad." John sighed and rubbed his eyes, letting himself flop onto the bed. His body was tired and he felt the cold get to him. He'd get a very good nights sleep, the bed looked very appealing.
"What are we to say to Miranda?" He asked,
"Bout what?" Sherlock was kneeling over two other pictures.
"Sleeping naked as she suggested . . ."
He looked up at him briefly, "either do it and be truthful or assume it would be as awkward as one could make it."
"You'd consider actually doing this, to make it easier to lie to her tomorrow? Or just because you like messing with me that much?"
"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
"Pardon?"
Sherlock set the photos back on the wall and ruffled his hair by his left ear, "Sigman Freud speculated that sometimes things are just as they are. There's no hidden meaning John, I'm simply stating the only available options."
"Your making me choose so as to see how I feel—"
He suddenly looked over at him with an intense stare, "Feel about what?"
John waved him off, "Of course I say it's nonsense. This is ridiculous torture and I won't go the extremes for a strong hunch that a man murdered his transgendered wife."
"Strong hunch?" Sherlock looked almost hurt.
"I don't want to play these games, I just want to solve this crime," John felt a little emotionally drained as he curled under the soft covers.
"The crime is the game John."
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John had found himself asleep after checking his phone for messages and a quick last minute shower. He must have fallen asleep quickly after, due to, the next thing he knew he was awake and cold from the stale air. The covers across the bed weren't enough to keep his ice cold feet warm.
The dim light of a few candles had caught his attention on his left, he looked to see Sherlock writing in a notebook the size of his palm. He didn't seem to know John was awake.
"Getting anywhere?" John mumbled.
Sherlock looked up with tired eyes, "You should sleep, I can discuss it in the morning."
"I'm curious," John protested.
"When you don't sleep you get irritable."
"Your one to talk," he yawned and tossed in bed, pulling the covers to use the bathroom. Sherlock's tired eyes followed.
He wasn't in long, really he's suspected a few minutes, taking extra time to inspect his face in her mirror out of habit. When he got out and dragged his feet back to the bed, he looked over to see the lump in the corner had fallen asleep sitting upright.
So, John took his robe and shook it off, feeling the cold hit his bare chest, he then laid it over Sherlock's long legs. The poor man must have been freezing.
"You . . . Shouldn't let me fall asleep John," he heard his friend say as he crawled back into bed.
"I'll deal with the consequences later. If you need to sleep take the couch—"
"To far," was mumbled and the candles were blown out, Sherlock slumped his head onto the back of the wall and let out a soft sigh. John had some notion to get over his pride and let his friend sleep in the bed beside him. He wasn't homophobic and really he was—
"Going to let me in or not?" Came his tired voice from above him, Sherlock had stood and shuffled his way to the other side of the bed. His voice drawled out, "I'm cold,"
"Yeah, alright fine. Stay on your side, your a clingy sleeper."
Sherlock hummed and the bed dipped from his weight.
"At their cabin, we should look for something connected to," he paused to yawn, "to the late wife."
"Goodnight Sherlock." John pulled the covers over his cold feet.
