Failing Upward

Chapter 4 (part 3): Hidden Hills

I sat up and Sherlock remained in place. Our noses bumped together. Our mouths so close. We hovered there, both undecided.

"She still harbors feelings for you," he said.

I laughed. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. Any fool could see it."

I picked the guitar out of the case. "So, who bought it." I turned it over in my hands, admiring it.

"It was a collection. The band and fans pitched in."

"And you?"

He gave me a smile back. I was glad the conversation switched away from Mary, but not glad that we hadn't kissed.

"I guess you have a house guest for a little while," I said, testing out the action on the guitar and practicing a new riff. "I hope you don't mind."

"No problem. But you already know I don't sleep much and like to play my violin at odd hours. You know where my extra room is--you've crashed there enough. I picked up earlier. It's still trashed though. It's fine if you stay in my room instead. The bed is more comfortable, and I don't mind the couch."

I nodded. "I don't like kicking you out of your room."

"You know I don't sleep much." He sat up and folded his hands, eyes flickering over my hands on the guitar. "I've taken inventory, checked all my possessions, nothing is missing. What the thieves were looking for was small as indicated by the way all the cabinets were emptied and drawers turned over in this apartment and in yours."

"You think it's the card, don't you?" I asked, and Sherlock gave me an incredulous lift of his eyebrow. I knew who we both suspected who too. The man who came out of my hospital room. The man with the flowers.

My swollen hand was having a difficult time playing bar chords.

"Stay in my room. I'll take the couch," he said finally.

I started to rummage through the case, searching for a pick but gave up. I could tell by the way he was stroking behind his ear, there was something else he wanted to tell me. I looked at him expectantly.

"Have you ever been hypnotized?" Sherlock asked.

"No. Why?" I laughed. I hadn't expected that.

"I know this psychiatrist who owes me a favor--"

"Are you suggesting I might remember what the card said?"

"Actually, yes but also I was thinking along the lines of the conversation that transpired between you and Lestrade at the hospital. A psychiatrist I know runs a weight loss clinic using hypnotherapy part time. He has his own practice as well. A very good one."

"I'm in safe hands--a weight loss guru-hypnotist," I said, placing the guitar back in the case. "I hope he won't make me cluck like a chicken."

"I already set up an appointment. We must go; he's fitting you in. He's only there two days per week."

"He won't turn my brain to mush will he? You know, I haven't been having the greatest luck lately." I thought for a moment. "Maybe he could get me to quit licking my lips. I'd save on chap stick."

Sherlock was quick to reply, "No." And his eyes fixed on my mouth. Oh, hell.

And maybe he could get me to not want Sherlock Holmes.

"Well, hey, and while he's at it," I said, "see if I was King Tut in a past life. Or Shakespeare. I actually surprised you'd suggest this whole hypnosis thing--not very scientific. Is there any other reason we're going there that you're not telling me? You know, like you usually do."