It's Reality Watson

"Watson, my friend where have you been?"

"Sorry for my tardiness Holmes. I took in a beautiful rendition of
Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream and had dinner at LeFaunt, a
lovely French diner."

"Did you have a lady present with you?"
"No my old friend, that would be preposterous. I would never even
consider hiding anything from you, Holmes." [Damn him! Why must he
question my every statement?]

Holmes rises out of his red velvet Victorian. He approaches Watson and
begins to sniff his neck. "Are you sure? When a woman reaches sexual
peak, her body emits a pheromone. I could swear the odor of such is all
over you."

"No Holmes, you must be mistaken. I had veal parmesan for dinner. It
must be the aroma of my exquisite entree that has enticed you to
believe such a thing." [You deducing imbecile, just get away from me
and mind your own business.]

"Well then Doctor, your word is all that I require." Holmes trots
toward his seat and then makes a sudden stop.

Now Watson feels his pulse quicken. Beads of sweat begin to form on
his forehead and the palms of his hands, making them feel clammy. All
he can think of is: [Why won't this man quit, what drives him to have
to know everything.]

"Watson, would you like to hear some lovely tunes from the
Stradivarius?"

[Oh no, not that. Why must he play that infernal thing. I wager a cat
being skinned alive would produce a far more pleasing sound. And why
doesn't he just call it a violin? Oh wait, I know the answer, it is
because he is Mr. Fancy Smancy Pants. How could one man be so smart and
not learn how to play a musical instrument any better than a six year
old boy.] "Of course Holmes, I would be delighted."

"Well then my friend, take a seat and I will lull you into a new world
filled with heavenly music." Watson takes a chair. Holmes crosses the
room and retrieves the violin out of the case. The twangy, irritable
sound of the music fills the room.

[Oh my dear god. This pitiful attempt at music this man displays grows
more horrid with each passing day. If only I could go back in time,
just mere hours is all I require. Back to Madam Mayfair's House of
Burlesque. Back to the olive skinned girl in the upper room. We came
together surround by lace and the aroma of sex. Yet now those are
memories that will soon fade. For I can not see her again. Because this
musically inept goon who stands before me will ruin the whole thing, if
I dare go back.]

Holmes continues to play the violin. Dogs and cats outside the window
have begun to cry in high tones. Watson feels like he is going to die
if the tuneless noise does not stop. Everyone in a two block radius
feels madness due to the playing. Except Holmes, who taps his foot to a
beat that no one else can hear.

[One would think he is trying to drive a confession out of me with
this hideous display.] But, its not going to work Holmes.

He finishes playing and takes an arrogant walk across the room, violin
in hand. He places it back in its extravagant case. Then peers at
Watson. "Watson, you look a mess, is something the matter?"

"I am fine dear friend." [You blithering idiot.]

"Well maybe you have fallen ill. Maybe a virus or just the common
cold. Nothing a nip of cognac wouldn't fix."

Watson's face brightens and he rises out of his chair. "Now that
sounds like a marvelous idea Holmes. I would be delighted." [Thank God
you're starting to serve a purpose.]

Each prepare a glass of the wine from the cabinet and returns to their
seats. Holmes begins the conversation once more. "I know that I have
badgered you tonight about this, but are you sure you haven't been with
a member of the opposite sex?"

"Uh no, no, no. I would tell you. Would I not?" [The arrogant bastard
knows. How on earth?]

"I'm sorry Watson. It is just that the aroma of perfume lingers in the
air. Chanel No. 5 if I am not mistaken. And you're cheeks are so
flushed."

[Need to think of a lie. Need to think of a lie. Oh shit, he's looking
at me with that look. That arrogant look. The one that says I got you.
Quit staring at me. I will give you an excuse if you just stop staring.
Aha! I got it.] "A lady attending the play sitting next to me must have
wore the perfume, that you speak of . I guess the redness of the face
is just due to the common cold. HACHOOOO!" [Ha Ha, that sneeze at the
end was just pure genius.]

"Well never mind, why you have been out all evening. I took the
liberty to paint a masterpiece. Would you like to see it?" Before
Watson can even reply, Holmes is up and out the door.

[Oh yes, I would love to look at your masterpiece. I am sure it is, in
your eyes anyway. Please die. Please die. If he comes back to this room
and is not dead. I will just have to bludgeon him to death with my
pocket watch or something.]

Holmes returns to the room with the painting. A mauve drape is hanging
on top of it. Watson tries to peer underneath, but sees nothing. "Ah,
here it is Watson." Holmes removes the drape and reveals a painting of
all red.

"Holmes, you must have brought the wrong one. This is no more than a
red piece of paper. [Caught you in a mistake, didn't I?]

A grin develops on Holmes face and he lets out a little chuckle. "Oh
Watson, you ninny. It is abstract. In abstract art one doesn't paint a
portrait, he or she paints his or her feelings. You are looking at my
emotions displayed on a canvas."

[He called me a ninny. I am definitely going to kill him. Enjoy this
night Holmes, for it is your last on earth. Emotions my arse, it looks
like pure laziness to me.] "Wonderful, Holmes simply wonderful." [He
must be autistic. That would explain how he solves all these mysteries
and is miserable at everything else.]

"Are you sure you weren't with a lady?"

[No more. I can't take anymore. Enough is enough.] "YES! I have been
with a lady! Just leave me be!"

"Yes, I figured as much. I could think of no other reason for lipstick
to be on your face and your collar to be askew like so. But, when I
noticed your fly was undone, the hunt was at an end."