Why Fireflies Flash

I Won't be Made a Fool of

221b Baker Street

Anabeth slams a newspaper onto Sherlock's lap as she passes by into his kitchen. "I'm gone for a week and you boys make the paper. Hello, John," she says to the computer screen. "Who are you?" she asks of the obese man in John's chair. "Never mind, I don't care."

"Hello, Anabeth," John breathes.

"Pass me over," Sherlock snaps as if he's said it one too many times.

"Fine, but there's a mute button and I will use it," John warns.

Anabeth rolls her eyes and looks to the stranger. "You're the suspect?"

Sherlock sputters before the man could answer. "Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here."

John groans. "Fine!" He passes it to the other man. "Take it. Take it!"

"Having driven to an isolated a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?" Sherlock inquires.

"He's trying to be clever. He's overconfident," the inspector says.

Sherlock sighs. "Did you see him?"

"He's not exactly flowing with confidence," Anabeth states as she walks over to Sherlock's chair.

Sherlock scopes the girl out briefly. "You're not exactly flowing with confidence either."

"There's a sleazeball staring at my ass. Sorry if I'm keeping my robe closed." She chuckles deeply and leans down, brushing her lips against the detective's ear. "Besides," she breathes sultry, "you can't do your deduction thing when I'm scantily clad."

A shiver runs down Sherlock's spine. "In that case, why don't you tell him why he can't be the killer."

Anabeth gives a breathless laugh and slips her hand beneath the cream sheet he's covered with. "I'm a bit out of sorts myself."

The inspector clears his throat. "Save the intimacy for the bedroom please."

She laughs again, louder this time, and straightens. "He's obese, has the halitosis of a single man living alone-"

"Right sleeve of an internet porn addict," Sherlock interjects, "and the breathing of an untreated heart condition."

Anabeth nods, going along with it. "He couldn't keep eye contact when I spoke with him earlier, self-esteem issues."

"A tiny IQ, and a limited life expectancy. And you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?"

The duo turns around to look at the so-called suspect. "No offense," they say together and turn back around.

"What did you say? Heart what?" the man asks desperately.

"Go to the stream," Sherlock says.

"What's in the stream?" the inspector asks.

"Go and see."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson calls as she walks through the door way followed by two men wearing suits. "You weren't answering your door bell."

"His bedroom's through the back get him some clothes," one man asked.

Anabeth's smiles apologetically. "We were a bit preoccupied, Mrs. Hudson."

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock wonders, not bothering to turn all the way around.

"Sorry Mr. Holmes, you're coming with us." He shuts the computer. "You as well Miss Ryder."