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"Are you alright?"
I nod. "Yes, 'course I'm alright."
Sherlock lowers his chin. "You have just killed a man."
"Yes, I…" I trail away.
Brief staring match.
"That's true." I say. "But, he wasn't a very nice man."
Sherlock smiles appraisingly. "No," he agrees. "No, he wasn't really, was he."
I feign solemnity. "Frankly, a bloody awful cabbie."
Sherlock laughs. "True, he was a bad cabbie." He strides away.
I follow.
"Should have seen the route he took us." Sherlock grins wickedly.
I hold back the laughter. "We can't giggle at a crime scene, stop it!"
"You were the one who shot him, not me—"
"Keep your voice down!"
Sherlock glances around. "Sorry, it's just the, uh, nerves talking."
Half-consciously, I wonder: how did I ever become so fond of a sociopath?
Figures.
Well? How did it go down?
-Spark Writer-