Day 3…
Cyndy?
Several seconds went by before a reply came on the chat screen. He positioned and repositioned himself in the chair as he waited, unable to cease fidgeting.
This is Robert, how may I assist you with your relationship issues today?
You're not Cyndy.
No. But I can help you if…
I need Cyndy. She is already familiar with my case, and I do not think this is the time or place to bring new people into the issues being discussed. It is basic continuity of care. I have already established a rapport with Cyndy and believe her to be of good, sound mind. Yourself, I have no background or data for, and so your knowledge, and therefore advice, is suspect.
…..
Get Cyndy.
….
….
….
This is Cyndy, how may I assist you with your relationship issues today?
Ah, Cyndy. Thank goodness. Some Robert person was trying to analyze the situation in which you've already begun to be of service.
Well…
Well, I am ready to help you again. Remind me of your issue and where you are with it?
I told you that my partner is rather apathetic lately, and you recommended I first try something surprising.
Oh, okay. So how did that go?
Horribly. Shouting. He tore some of it down. Said I made a mess. Stomped off and didn't speak for the rest of the night.
Oh. Well. I guess surprises aren't his thing then. How about something interesting for the two of you to do together? Something you both like?
Hmm. Has promise. I shall keep you updated on the progress.
And he snapped the laptop closed, cutting Cyndy off once again. Something we both like? His mind wove over their usual activities together and what seemed to make John happy. Of course, John was a fairly positive man in general, so many things seemed to make him happy, which complicated it a bit. How to pick from so many? I should focus instead on something that I like to do that he wouldn't be averse to. It took him all of three minutes to leap from his seated position in his armchair, pumped full of the ingenious idea he had. Have to call Molly. His heart beat faster at the thought of solving John's case with such a simple activity. The clock showed ten past two. Should be enough time. He glanced around the flat. Where to do it?
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John came home from work feeling positively wrung out of all sympathy for the human race. Such strange patients he had. He shook his head. The last lady that had come in was the winner. She hadn't had sex in over 3 years, (join the ever growing crowd of the celibate, he thought), and the other night she had done it for the first time since then. And she said that her partner had been too large for her, and now she was chafing "down there." Really... At least you're getting some, he thought, rather jealous of the large woman. He sighed as he put the key in the door, thinking of how badly he'd reacted yesterday.
He was only trying to be nice, in his own strange way. He's like a child sometimes, and I need to stop reacting so suddenly. Maybe I'll apologize after dinner. He's probably in a snit and gone off somewhere anyway, he thought as he pushed in and began to climb the stairs. He hung his coat on the hook as he passed by and spared a glance for Mrs. Hudson's flat. Should maybe check on her, too. She probably heard all the yelling I did and chose to stay away for a while.
His mind was browsing over thoughts of bills, chores, and other mundane matters when he opened the door of the flat to find himself almost walking right on top of a very overweight man lying on the floor. He did a double-take. A very dead overweight man lying on the floor. He backpedaled and almost fell into the detective's arms as the other man came up from behind him.
"John. You're home a bit early. Well, no matter! What do you see?"
"I'm….I…um… Sherlock. There is a dead man. On our floor. Why…?" It seemed not even a question as it left his mouth.
"Very succinct, John. He is dead, but I was hoping to go a bit further."
"Where did he come from?!"
"Ah, the right question. He died two days ago in a very questionable 'massage parlor,' and now he is here."
John growled, yes growled, as he put his face down and massaged his temple. Had he really just been thinking that he would be the one to apologize here? Don't hit him, don't hit him, don't hit him…
"So you're telling me, that there is…a dead man…in our flat…on the floor…because…?"
"Practice, John! C'mon! Deduce with me! I know you enjoy it, so go on, this one's for you. I brought him here special…so you….could…um, John? Why are you holding your keys that way?"
John glanced down at his hand where he saw that his keys appeared to be readying themselves for battle, knuckles white as he practically strangled them. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and walked over, past the dead man, and dropped them on the chair table. He stayed facing away from Sherlock and into the fireplace for several moments, breathing in and out. Sherlock remained beside the dead man looking alternately at John and then the body at his feet. He sensed something was amiss. Have I misjudged? No, that couldn't be it. John loves cases, and since I haven't had one in a while, I know he would normally appreciate this. Something else is wrong, then. A confounding variable. Ah! He must've had a bad day in the clinic, and he's too tired; and therefore, he's angry that he's missing this opportunity. Yes, that's it. I suppose I would be put out, too. He stepped toward John just a bit before speaking.
"John, I can see now that I've caught you at a bad time. I'm sorry. I'll just take this back, and we'll have dinner and watch crap telly in a bit, alright? Sorry you didn't get to enjoy it, but I'll make sure next time that you haven't had such a trying day first."
Suddenly, there was a voice drifting up the stairs, "Oo hoo! Boys! I've got some fresh cakes on their way up to you! Look out now!" And John's mind buzzed to a stop. Mrs. Hudson? Oh, shit. He looked to the body and then to the door. The detective remained motionless, watching him with seeming bemusement as the doctor suddenly leaped forward and ran to slam the door shut. John leaned back against it and called out to his landlady.
"Oh, very, um, good of you, Mrs. Hudson! Thank you. But, um… Me and Sherlock are….um, rather engaged in…something, at the moment. So…could I come down for them…in just a minute…later? Please?"
He listened intently as her footsteps stopped just before their door. A momentary silence passed before she said, with an implied wink in her voice, "Oh, I understand, John! I didn't see a thing! You two just continue on with your something, and I'll be downstairs when you're ready for those cakes!" She even tittered a little in laughter as her voice began retreating down to her own flat. John's head hit the door as he realized what she thought of them.
"No! It's not that! Mrs. Hudson? Are you still there? Hello?! I'm not ga…." Enormous sigh, and another knocking of the head against the wood of the door. "Damn; I give up." He turned to face his friend, who wore something of a quizzical expression now, and then he walked back over to his chair, preferring not to remain close to the corpse.
Sherlock shrugged at John's behavior and continued on as if Mrs. Hudson hadn't ever interrupted them in the first place. He began to struggle with dragging the poor man's naked corpse toward the stairs, utilizing the sheet that had been placed beneath it to facilitate sliding. John came to his senses, though, upon remembering the "next time" portion of Sherlock's interrupted apology. Next time?! Fists clenched at his sides.He could feel his face turning redder by the minute, and he spun around just as the dead man's feet were leaving the room.
"No! No 'next time!' Not this, Sherlock! This is….is…more than even a bit not good. It's horrid!"
John angrily stomped over and through into the kitchen, banging pots and things around as he searched for things to cook the living hell out of. Maybe some offending vegetables he could mutilate with a knife, or a fork, or hell, whatever else was handy. Bare hands was starting to look appealing at the moment. And he called out, just as Sherlock was about to go out through the back of the ground floor of the flat, "It's awful, you bringing that man here. Judging from the overall appearance of his health, and the condition of his, er, um, member…the poor sod obviously was just having it off at the 'massage parlor' and had a heart attack during it. It's not right bringing that kind of shame down on the deceased, Sherlock!" More banging, slamming, and then some chopping followed the statement.
The angry and admonishing words floated down to the detective. And true, they were meant to be punitive in nature. But what Sherlock heard was: Unhealthy, overweight, late fifty-ish, deceased male with obvious signs of arousal that had been halted abruptly. Very abruptly. Probably mid-coitus. And he had subsequently died. From a cardiac arrest. Obviously. He grinned to himself as he almost tripped and fell over the doorstep while dragging the body through to the back alley. He was so proud of John!