Ajax, thanks for the preliminary reading.
There was a knock on Eurus's office, and John Watson entered. Sherlock burned his sister with a furious look. It's great when he himself sends an SMS, without looking at his smartphone and unnoticed by others. But if someone else does it...
However, Eurus didn't care at all about his brother's opinion. She got up from her armchair, approached Watson with a friendly smile, and formally introduced him and Sherlock to each other. John got embarrassed, and started to apologize to Eurus for hitting her brother.
"There's no bad," Eurus said. "You can add a couple of ones. And repeat the procedure regularly. Suddenly, it will turn on his brain."
Sherlock wanted to be indignant, especially since Watson didn't even think of apologizing to him, but Eurus barked at Sherlock "Shut up!" and continued, turning to Watson:
"My brother writes brilliant songs. They are really magnificent. However, he is an absolute idiot in everything else. And I don't know how he insulted you, but you are not his only victim. Almost everyone punishes him for almost everything in one way or another. And the funny thing is that Sherlock has never actually done anyone the slightest harm. He just has social dementia. He calls himself a high-functioning sociopath, though sociopaths are always well-adapted. And my brother is just a capricious spoiled boy who consciously does not want to grow up and learn to communicate." She waved her hand. "I will explain to him that not wanting to appear on stage and not trying to be in the spotlight is normal, and he will not bother you anymore."
John smiled softly, plushly. But Sherlock tensed. He learned well what things it hid under this softness.
And John said:
"The scene and the subsequent noise are acceptable outgoings of good earnings if it's a one-time event. The single will stay in the charts for a couple of weeks and will be forgotten forever, which means that I will get peace again, but the money will remain. But I don't like the song. Whether it be something else…"
"How is 'don't like'?!" Sherlock jumped up.
His songs were never rejected. It was impossible. Ever since Sherlock's first appearance at a student festival, anyone who can even sing a little, or even think they can sing, has been willing to sell their soul for his song.
"Welcome to the real world, bro," Eurus said maliciously. "You are not the center of the universe."
"I never talked about myself like that!" Sherlock was indignant, and Eurus burst out laughing sincerely. Sherlock began an angry tirade, but John interrupted the conflict:
"Give this song to 'Still Waters', Mr. Holmes. Edwin will do it fine."
"He's no good," Sherlock waved his hand in disgust and annoyance. "He's just like everyone else. The faceless."
"And the song is the same."
Sherlock froze with his mouth open. Eurus frankly enjoyed the situation. Sherlock started coughing. And he angrily noted how John's look instantly changed: it was tenacious, attentive, analytical. And there was understanding.
[Did he guess how I ruined my voice?] thought Sherlock. [Damn doctor!]
Sherlock drank the rest of the water in his glass and said sarcastically:
"Do you consider yourself unique?"
"No, no. I'm much more ordinary and boring than Edwin. But I hate to lie."
"What?!" Sherlock was bewildered again.
"I am a terrible actor," Watson said quickly. "I won't be able to play the role that this song needs."
Sherlock didn't understand why he needed to play at all if Watson was told that he was suitable for the song as he is. And Watson again started talking about 'Still Waters'.
[Why the hell is he so worried about them?!] Sherlock thought with growing anger. And said aloud:
"Still Waters is a non-existent object. No matter how stupid its constituent parts are, they understand the killer is one of them. And soon they will scatter in different directions."
"The name of the killer is unknown," Watson replied. "And the group is fighting for itself. And you owe them compensation for the threats. This will be fair."
Sherlock chuckled contemptuously. This is ridiculous and stupid. Watson went through the war, ended up thrown into a landfill and still believes in a just world. Such a person must be stupid. But... John Watson was not a fool. This strange little man intrigued Sherlock again. Which time? Sherlock has lost count. And it's incredible. But it is what it is.
And Watson said:
"I saw your site. There are articles besides music. You explain how to identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb. You can find arguments that will force the police to reopen the case on the death of Tim Rogers."
Sherlock looked at him in surprise. No one has ever rated his articles like this. People saw it as a machine for producing songs. But for the first time, someone was interested in his thoughts.
John interpreted the surprise in his own way.
"It will be compensation too if you didn't like Edwin's vocals."
[He is a stubborn one!] Sherlock got angry again. But said:
"People committing all crimes only for three motives: profit, lust and power. The rest of the motives somehow come down to these three. At the same time, profit is not always money, and lust is not necessarily associated with sexual intercourse."
"No one molested Tim's girlfriend," John replied. "And his death is not beneficial to anyone. On the contrary, the band loses its performance in the competition. Even if they find a drummer, they will not have time to make a complete interaction with him and the performance will be bad. And the band has lost not only the person who keeps the whole rhythm but the author of all successful songs."
"Nonsense," Sherlock said. "There are no irreplaceable people. Don't you know it better than anyone else?"
"Replacement success is based on a fee," Watson was not at all offended. "If we talk about the army, then by the time you retire, you will have a nice house in the suburbs for the middle class, free medicines and coupons for free petrol. And you have all this as an addition to the pension and decent savings. Yes, you risk not holding out in the army until old. However, the risk has been well paid, so there are enough willing ones. But 'Still Waters' can't make up for sleeping in stinky hotels and having to play with amateurs at country charity parties. There is no question of replenishing pension savings, and the future is foggy."
"You didn't check out Tim's fans, right? The fans of the beauty Nancy are obvious, but who remembered that the victim also had her share of attention?" Sherlock was pissed off. He hated it when they pointed out to him his worldly uselessness, and everyone did this all the time. "Poison is a weapon for people from the inner circle. Groupies! Nobody ever sees these girls, but some groupie may very well decide it's better to share an object of adoration with death than with Nancy Walker."
Sherlock clapped his hands when the new idea hit him.
"Or Nancy herself was jealous of Tim for his fans, she was afraid that she would throw her out of her life and from the group. She didn't even want to kill him. She wanted to make him sick, weak and dependent on her, but she overdid it with a dose. Also, you need…"
"Just a moment, please," Watson sat down in Eurus's armchair and took out a notebook and a pen. "Tim's groupies… Nancy's jealousy… Who else?"
Sherlock looked at Watson in complete shock. Is he going to write his advice?! Is it serious? This has never happened before in Sherlock's life.
Eurus sat at her desk and looked with interest, as if she got a ticket to the circus for free. Sherlock looked at her defiantly and said, trying not to show how he revels in Watson's attention:
"Poison is the weapon of the strategist. You need to look at the long term." He started pacing around the room, gesticulating, caught up in thoughts that were so interesting. "Contests take place every year, and there are many different ones. Who owns the 'Still Waters' brand? Who inherits Tim's copyright and who owned the rights to his songs during his lifetime? Who is more interested in members rotation than others, and how could Tim influence the rotation? And you shouldn't forget that the other guys in the band also have groupies. These people are always crazy, but there are enough of them who are smart in other areas of life. Some of the fans can easily decide that it is her... or his idol who should own the brand and all its products."
Sherlock stopped and looked at John Watson.
"Recruiting new musicians and especially new song makers is easy. Even if you play in village clubs, you always have a large selection of applicants. The Internet is full of unrecognized geniuses who will give songs to anyone just to make them sound. And not all of these people are talentless. I'm proof of that."
"Well," Watson nodded and put away the notebook. "I'll check."
Sherlock had time to notice that he was taking shorthand. God, who in our time even knows about the existence of shorthand, not to mention the ability to use it?! And why a notepad and not a phone recorder?
The mystery called "John Watson" intrigued Sherlock more and more.
