Drink

I was vaguely aware of Holmes standing over my shoulder with a sweetened cup of coffee in his hand and promptly stretched out my arm to retrieve the odious stuff; no need to prolong the inevitable and insufferable nursing soon to follow. "Holmes, if you are to be so insistent in stuffing sweets down my throat, I suggest that you offer me something more substantial than diluted coffee."

Holmes ignored my hand and set the cup onto a nearby table before stretching his lean self upon the neighboring deck chair. I turned my face slightly away from him and studied the waves.

"Russell." His voice was infuriatingly calm and I considered my ability to throw him over the ledge. "I offered you eggs this morning and you refused me. What am I to do? Coffee is all that you will take."

Ridiculous; I had been offered no such meal. "Not, my dear Holmes, when it has been invaded by sugar and is barely palatable."

"I used but one lump, Russell. You must take something. I have no intention of returning to Sussex with my wife in a coffin."

"How morbid, Holmes. Do you intend to murder me?" I smiled and squinted into the sun as I felt his annoyance beat down upon my skin.

"Take the coffee." I felt his eyes pierce me and broke.

"I do not need a nursemaid, Holmes!"

"No, Russell, you need a husband. Now, my wife… drink."

I took a gulp, cringed at the liquid's strength, and felt Holmes's cotton shirt soak with unpromising tears. I listened to the man's heartbeat and decided it was not to be an enjoyable boat ride.