"Make a distraction," Watson hissed at him, his voice low enough that the others in the room couldn't hear him.

"What?" Homes questioned his friend, his concentration broken by Watson's sudden command.

"Distraction, Holmes. Now. get them out of this room."

"Watson…"

"Norbury, Holmes. Do it!"

Holmes didn't understand, and he certainly didn't like that he didn't know what was going on, but he knew that he trusted Watson.

"Sir James!" He called, crossing the room quickly, "Take me to your, uh, wine cellar now, please. And please," he said, addressing the servants, "You will come with us."

"But Mr. Holmes," their host insisted. "No one has been in the wine cellar since last week, there's been no need. Do you really think it could have any bearing at all on my wife's death?"

"Lead the way, if you please," Holmes sniffed.

"Of course. This way, Mr. Holmes."

As soon as they were gone, Watson turned to the display locked cabinet in the living room. Holmes had taught him how to pick locks, but he wasn't very good at it. However, he was smart enough to know that the lock on the cabinet wasn't going to be a particularly complicated one. It took him only a couple tries, and the display's door swung open. Watson reached inside carefully, trying not to disturb anything. His fingers found the small, cylindrical object he'd seen tucked behind a priceless china plate. He secreted it into his pocket just as he heard the others coming back.

"I know your methods are sometimes unorthodox, Mr. Holmes, their client was complaining, "But I need to know who killed my wife!"

"I have several theories that may fit the facts at the moment, Sir James," Holmes said, giving Watson a quick look. Watson nodded at him slyly. "I believe I shall pursue another line of inquiry for the moment," he finished. "Watson?"

Watson nodded, and stepped to his side, the two leaving together.

"Watson," Holmes asked as soon as they were well away from prying ears, "what was all that about? What did you see?"

"Something for the music box," Watson replied cryptically.

"What?" Holmes asked, still confused. "You were standing by the display cabinet and there was nothing inside it besides a set of china."

Watson chuckled. "Let me be a bit dramatic for a moment," he requested. "It is not often I see something that you have missed."

"You're not being dramatic," Holmes sniffed, "You're just being cruel. Tell me, Watson. What did you see while you snuck around?"

"Snuck around unnoticed," Watson clarified. "Did you realize that as well? To that man, I was nothing but the help. I was useless, and he paid me no attention at all, not even to wonder why I didn't go to the cellar with you. I was practically invisible; we should remember to take advantage of that again sometime."

"I do not think you are useless," Holmes protested.

"No, but that man certainly did," Watson replied. "I not the great detective, and so therefore he didn't care. As I said, we should remember that in case I ever need to sneak around again."

"Your findings, Watson?" Holmes prompted.

"I told you, the music box. Don't you remember we received a music box in the mail anonymously just yesterday? And today, this woman is killed."

"I don't see the connection," Holmes grunted, his frustration rising, "between our receiving a music box and your decision to rifle through our client's precious china. But you must have known something, for you would not have made me make a fool of myself with that ridiculous distraction otherwise. Besides, even I know you don't simply riffle through a stranger's displays without reason. So why did you do it? I mean, I am right, aren't I?"

"Yes, Holmes, you are right. The only reason to riffle through a stranger's displays would be if one is a thief or if one is investigating a murder."

Holmes nodded. "So what did you see?"

"One of them was out of place."

"Watson!" Holmes whined. "Give me a straight answer!"

"Do you see now how infuriating it is when you do it?" his friend shot back.

"Watson!"

"Fine, fine," Watson sighed. "She died in that room, Holmes. And someone had opened the cabinet, hidden something behind a plate, and then quickly shut the cabinet again. Who else but the lady of the house? Knowing she was in danger of being discovered, she hides it, and is just in time, for soon after she is killed."

"But what did she hide?"

"This," Watson said, and revealed the small cylinder from his pocket.

Holmes took it, turning it over in his hands and studying it. "What on earth could it be?" he mused.

Watson chuckled.

"What?" said Holmes with a frown. "It is just a metal cylinder with small little bumps? Do you know what it is? I suspect it might be some kind of code, but I can't know more without studying it."

"Yes, Holmes, I know what it is. It makes music."

"This little thing? What do I do with it?" Be brought it up to his lips and blew across it.

Watson laughed, and Holmes frowned at him.

"What? What else am I supposed to do?"

"I said it makes music, Holmes I didn't say it was an instrument. It goes inside the music box. Don't worry, I'll show you at home."

He did, showing Holmes how it could be inserted into the music box to play a little song.

"So," Holmes mused, watching the music box intently, "She knows she's in danger, so what does she do? Sends a music box to the greatest detective in England. She must have been in a situation where she couldn't escape yet, and she must have known any letter she wrote could be intercepted. So, she keeps the cylinder on her just in case she can't get away in time. She knows it will be found, because she sent the music box to the most clever detective in the world. She knows he will realize what the clue means and bring her killer to justice!"

Watson snorted and dropped into his chair. "I find that highly unlikely, Holmes."

"What is the song, Watson?" Holmes asked, undisturbed.

Watson very heroically bit back his snark. For all that Holmes adored music, there was simply too much of it. So, Holmes committed the songs he liked to memory (most of those which featured the violin), and disregarded all others. He'd even thrown "God Save the Queen" and "Rule Britannia" out of his brain attic until Watson had convinced him that, as a good and loyal Englishman, he really ought to know them.

"It is 'Sailor's Hornpipe,' Holmes," Watson said in answer to Holmes' question. "Quite popular for the music boxes, I think."

"Sailor!" Holmes cried, springing away from the music box excitedly. "That's it, Watson! There's only one sailor in that household! The gardener! He was the only man I deduced had been at sea and he was in a unique position to know both when the lady would leave as well as what letters she would send! It fits my theory exactly! Now all we need is to divine the motive! Come, Watson!"

Strangely enough, Holmes was exactly right. The gardener had spied the lady of the house bringing in a lover and he had proceeded to terrorize her, demanding money and watching her every move. When she had refused to give into him, he'd killed her in a fit of anger, but not before she'd thought of how to leave a clue for Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

"Just a routine little murder committed by an idiot," Holmes grumbled after it was over. "The least he could have done would have been to give me a challenge. Nothing for your chronicles, I'm afraid, my dear Watson."

"What about the music box?"

Holmes shrugged. "That was unique, at least, but elementary, in the end."

Watson sighed, and let him believe it.

Author's Note:

To everyone who reads this, thank you for your time. I hope you enjoyed my story.

This was written for the prompt: Even Holmes knows that it's bad manners to touch things that aren't his without permission. So why is Watson going through his client's china cabinet? I'm not actually sure why I chose a music box cylinder.

My dear Faithful Reader: what does it mean when you put exclamation marks in between your words in your comments? I've seen it before, I just don't know what it means. Thank you for all your kind support. I hope you enjoyed this story... anything else? :)