Because You’re An Idiot
by J.H. Watson
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, Lestrade, I’m not explaining it again. Even John can understand it!”
John Watson’s lips tightened as if he were fighting to hold back bitter words. When he followed Sherlock Holmes out of the morgue, he moved stiffly, formally. John said nothing on the trip back to Baker Street, allowing Sherlock to go on and on about his own brilliance in solving the mystery without leaving the crime scene and the stupidity of not only London’s criminal class but it’s police force in failing to see the obvious.
John Watson continued to not say anything. Sherlock remained oblivious to the atmosphere hanging like a dank, dense fog in the flat. John sat in his chair attempting to read a book as Sherlock continued to chatter on for about an hour before John got his coat and left. He took a walk in the park. When John realized he was just storming about in circles mentally venting about Sherlock over and over in his head, he called Stamford about meeting in a pub for lunch.
At lunch Stamford asked, “So how’s Sherlock?”
“I’d rather not talk about him.”
Stamford gave John a questioning look and said, “Okay. How’s Harry doing?”
John took a large drink from his beer and checked out the women as he answered. There was a group of about six who appeared to be co-workers celebrating someone’s birthday. The birthday “girl” looked up after opening a rather puerile package containing assorted condoms and a sex toy. She caught John’s gaze and blushed. She looked down a she hastily re-bagged the items and tucked the bag under her chair.
John and Stamford finished their lunch debating sports, updates about different departments at Bart’s and the general chat that passes for casual conversation. John felt a bit better, but he still didn’t want to head back to the flat where he suspected Sherlock was insensible to the mood if he was even aware that John had left.
As Stamford got up to leave and go back to work he said, “Oh, and I liked your last blog post. Too bad you couldn’t add pictures. Everyone likes pictures. Might get you re-posted on the social media sites. Or video. Video’s better. But I guess the police won’t let you take video at a crime scene.”
“I doubt it. They barely tolerate me writing about it. Ta!”
The birthday party seemed to be breaking up slowly and with a lot of conviviality made louder by the drinks. As Stamford headed for the front door, John turned towards the loo. Where upon he bumped smack into the birthday girl from the raucous party of women.
“Oh, sorry,” he said as he took her arm to steady her.
“My fault, really. I was walking forward and looking backwards.” She looked back again as another burst of laughter came from the remaining members of the party.
“It’s sounds like everyone had a good time,” John said offering her his best smile.
She smiled back at him and said, “A little too good. I’m afraid there isn’t going to be much work done in the office this afternoon. Or at least nothing that shouldn’t be checked twice.”
“Then I hope you don’t work somewhere terribly sensitive like a nuclear power plant or the defense department.” John’s voice had gone all husky as the women continued to smile at him. She had a lovely smile, light-blue eyes and ginger hair. John realized he hadn’t taken his hand off her arm and promptly did so.
Her smile broadened as she replied, “Nothing so dire. They work for an online magazine. The worst that will happen is a lot of typos which none of the readers will catch and photo mix ups which everyone will catch.”
“They? Don’t you work there then?”
“I just write for them on a contract basis. I’m not staff.”
“Oh, so you’re a writer? I do that, too.”
“Really? Who do you write for? I’ve probably seen your stuff.”
John looked a bit embarrassed as he said, “Well, I’m not really a writer. I’m a blogger.”
“Of course, we’re writers! I blog, too. That’s what I do for the magazine.”
John beamed at the woman, “That’s great! Dr. John Watson, by the way.”
“Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. I love your blog!” The woman held out her hand as she added, “Rachel Jones. I do the Sob Sister blog for the offshoot of Red Online.”
John shook her hand and replied, “Fantastic!” A burly office worker muscled past the two of them and a waiter shot a scowl as he cleared the table beside them as John released her hand. “Look’s like we’re in the way. I’d offer to buy you a birthday drink, but I guess you need to get back to the office.”
Rachel shook her head. “No, I work mostly on my own schedule. I just met the other women for lunch because it was more convenient for them. I’d love another drink.”
John gestured towards the bar. As he held out a chair for Rachel, a waitress approached with the bag of salacious gifts. “You forgot this,” she said. The sex toy could be clearly seen peeking through the tissue paper.
Rachel took it, blushed and quickly shoved it next to the handbag at her feet. “I’m afraid some of my friends aren’t fully trained up.”
John flagged the bartender and said, “You don’t have to tell me about that. I’m willing to put my roommate up against anyone you can name in this city for the Most Insensitive prize.”
“You should give him a little of his own back.”
John paused long enough for the two of them to give their order and then asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well, you do have a blog. You could always posts embarrassing information or photos. It’s how I finally got my sister to stop asking why I’m not married on her Facebook page.”
John thought for a moment and then shook his head, “I don’t dare. He probably wouldn’t get it anyway.”
“Just a thought. So what did you do before you became a blogger?”
John didn’t return to Baker Street until early the next morning after Rachel had booted him out of her bed so she could make deadline. The flat was quiet. Sherlock apparently was still asleep. John hummed an infectious pop tune to himself as he emptied his pockets and noticed his phone was still off. He turned it on and discovered he had ten messages, eight were from Sherlock and two were from Lestrade telling him that Sherlock was looking for him. John stopped humming as he scrolled through the messages from Sherlock.
Come at once.
Why aren’t you here?
We’re out of sugar.
Don’t forget to pick up my dry cleaning.
Your computer has a virus.
Answer the door. Send whomever is ringing away.
I’ve left you some case notes on your computer. Try to get the salients points into your story this time and leave out the drivel.
Pick up milk when you get the sugar.
John frowned at the phone for a moment. Then he went downstairs.
John was having lunch when Sherlock yelled, “John!” John continued to eat and read his Lancet. Sherlock dashed in. “Didn’t you hear me call?”
“Yes.” John took another bite and scrolled down the article he was reading.
Sherlock blinked and paused, then he said, “Your blog has been hacked.”
“Yes. There’s all this scurrilous personal information and silly photos on it.”
“Obviously. Why else would it matter?”
John shook his head and he pulled up the next article on his screen. “I have no idea.”
Sherlock was now pacing around the flat, waving his hands in the air. “There’s even a video of me asleep with my mouth open, drooling. Where could that have come from? How could the hacker have gotten it?” Sherlock stopped and froze in thought for a moment before looking up and saying, “Mycroft!”
John continued to read his screen and sip his tea. “It wasn’t Mycroft, Sherlock.”
“Then whom? Who else could have posted all of that?”
John picked up his plate and put it in the sink before saying, “Think about it.”
Sherlock looked puzzled.
John stared Sherlock and said, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”
John collected his coat and keys. Before heading out, he said, “I think you’re missing the salient point. I have a blog. That’s a lot more popular than your blog. And my traffic has already doubled today.”
Sherlock continued to look puzzled and then opened his eyes wide in enlightenment as John turned back and added, “And we still need sugar and milk and don’t forget your dry cleaning.”
### END ###