Failing Upward

Chapter 10 (part 3): Sandpaper Box

I texted Sherlock as soon as practice got out. Sean volunteered to drive me home. I'd get a chance to corner him with a few questions, and I'd save him from Smith, who kept asking Sean to stay for a while and "help him out."

Not that I didn't enjoy watching Sean getting embarrassed, but the joke was getting old. Plus I think Smith was half serious, especially after he heard Sean's singing. And the way Sean blushed, I wondered if he was half interested in helping Smith out. We fucked each other over enough in this band without literally fucking each other.

Besides, after my run in with Moriarty, I needed to know more.

"How old are you?" I asked. "Give me a straight answer."

"I'm eighty-nine years old. A little boy in our world, and you're just a baby."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't remember anything at all about the night of your accident. If you did, you wouldn't be asking me that."

"No, why? What should I remember?" I asked, fastening my seatbelt. "These word games need to stop. Now. I'm tired of guessing, and after today, it's getting too dangerous to be playing fucking mind games."

"Why, what happened today?" He asked, checking his rearview mirror.

"That sick son of a bitch Moriarty cornered me in the greenhouse with one of his goons, threatening to hurt Sherlock."

"Not surprising. He was parked across the street and watched our whole practice from his car. The acoustics sucked. Now he's following us."

"Shit," I said, turning around in my seat to see.

"Listen, I'd love to tell you everything I know, but my uncle doesn't want me to. He wants you to remember it. But shit, he wouldn't want anything to happen to Holmes. At least I'm living with some protection, but you're really open to this man. He is seriously dangerous." I noticed his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel tight. He eyes darted, watching me, the road and the rearview mirror as he pulled in front of our place on Baker Street.

"Maybe you better come in," I said.

"He's not going to follow me home. He's going to sit outside and watch your place. But I'll come up."

"You know what he is, then?" I asked, straining to see where he'd parked as I got out of the car.

"Yeah, I know."

I got out of the car and slammed the door.

We waited until we were upstairs before continuing. Sherlock stood waiting for me to come through, must have heard my voice. I didn't even need to knock. Sherlock wasn't surprised to see Sean either. We took a seat in the living room as Sherlock paced. Sherlock bolted the door behind us as I made my way to the couch and carelessly fell back, dropping my guitar case to the floor, taking in the smooth grace that is Sherlock as he pivoted towards us.

"You know exactly what he is," Sherlock said. He raised his arms like a conductor or a dancer, exaggerated, dramatic. "Your uncle was here the other day as well."

"You're right," Sean said. "Confession time. We pretty much nosed around all through this place afterwards. Sorry."

"Fuck! Who are you that you think it's fine to do that?" I shouted.

"Moriarty was in your house the night of the fire, too."

Sherlock positively puffed up then. For a moment, it looked like he was going to dive into Sean, then he thought better and looked to me for some kind of moral center.