Chapter One - Boat Trip
Sherlock smirked and ran haphazardly to the other side, his coat swishing in the wind.
"Stop it. Right now," John Watson warned, trying to keep his tone level and firm, commanding but gentle, anything to get through to Sherlock like this. They rocked dangerously and John clung to the side with both hands.
"Don't you see? It's the only way to know for sure," Sherlock's face was flushed red as he yelled over the wind; he was exhilarated.
"I'm warning you!" John nearly screamed as with one last rocking effort the consulting detective managed to capsize the fishing boat.
The freezing water hit the two men like a slap and John's teeth immediately began chattering.
"I am g-g-going to kill you," he muttered as they swam from underneath the upturned little vessel.
Sherlock grabbed his friend's wrist and grinned as they awkwardly trod water, "Not important now! This was no accident. This was murder. Ah, excellent, excellent."
Watson yanked his hand back and started to swim for shore, wondering why the death of one person could make the life of another's so much more interesting.
The doctor turned his head in surprise and was taken aback when he saw Sherlock Holmes doing an extremely improvised version of the doggie paddle and looking decidedly anxious.
"Are you honestly telling me you don't know how to swim?" John guffawed then regretted it after swallowing a mouthful of seawater.
"U-u-useless," Sherlock went slightly red in embarrassment and John, taking pity on the man, (and in truth, not wanting to swim all the way back) helped right the boat and get his friend and himself inside.
"So swimming is useless then?" asked the doctor once they were both safely snuggled up in blankets by the fireside in the hotel room.
"A waste of my very precious brain space," Sherlock said, looking condescendingly at John.
"And if you'd drowned today?"
"You'd never have let me."
John sighed, resigned to the fact that this was 100% true.