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Of Strings and Step-by-Steps

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It got boring when Sherlock left, the quiet was nice but after so long it became stifling. John tried to pass the time browsing the Internet or reading one of his medical textbooks but it never seemed to fend off the boredom. On a particularly dull day he began pacing the flat, Sherlock was off doing who knows what, while he got stuck at home.

While making yet another lap the doctor tripped over something bulky. After quickly regaining his balance he turned to look down at what he'd fell over and was met with the detective's padded violin case.

'At least it's closed this time' he muttered to himself.

After nudging the case back to where it belonged, he continued to roam. The blond tried to put the small instrument out of his mind but it continued to invade his thoughts. Hesitantly he gave in, pulled the violin from its spot, and as he slid the locks up the slowly setting sun caught the metal. But before he could get the case open, he heard the familiar slam of the front door and the measured footsteps of his flat mate. Swiftly John slid the case back between Sherlock's chair and desk. Just as the door flung open, the doctor had thrown himself onto the couch pulling open the closest book. He couldn't explain why, but he felt like he was a teenager again, being caught with a dirty magazine.

It wasn't until Sherlock had thrown off his coat and sat down to one of his experiments that John realized that the book he was meant to be reading, was in fact upside down. His cheeks coloured slightly as put the, what was he "reading" anyway; Reader's Digest, it figures, back onto the table and reclined back. Slowly his mind wandered, thinking about how Sherlock would react to his meddling with the brunette's most prized possession, it probably wouldn't go over well so the topic was never brought up, quickly be replaced by the need of milk and a relatively clean living space.

_____

It wasn't until a few days later, when the detective was off gallivanting once again on his own that the violin pervaded John's thoughts. This time though he didn't try and busy himself with anything else. As soon as he could, he grabbed the violin case the hesitation he had felt before crept up but didn't deter him. Slowly he lifted the lid and the dark wood shone in the sunlight. Through the months he'd seen Sherlock spend hours with this seemingly insignificant piece of wood, silently having conversations with the notes that he pulled from it during cases or one of his black moods. But no matter how busy the doctor had been during these hours he'd always set his work aside and sit entranced by the music. All these things had bombarded John's thoughts, but it wasn't until he'd looked down that he saw that his fingertips had been slowly caressing the different parts of the instrument. Freed from the velvet lining and finding it surprisingly lighter than he had imagined he placed it under his chin like he'd seen the detective do so many times before. He swung the hinge that held the bow out of place, and weighed it in his hands. He tried to curl his fingers the way Sherlock does but they weren't used to the odd angle so he improvised. Tentatively he slid the bow across the strings, a sound instantly jumping from the silver cords. He hadn't realized how silent it had been in the flat until the sound had died, leaving an eerie emptiness in its wake. It was several minutes trying different strings and different hand positions before he figured that it was about time for his flat-mate to return home. Using the crude detective skills he'd learned he tried his best to place everything in the case as it had been, and then return the instrument to its spot. It wasn't long before the detective made his way home, and if he had noticed any differences he didn't say.

Soon all of John's alone time was taken by the small instrument, he'd make sure he'd gotten all of the work he needed to do done by the time Sherlock left and that all was right by the time he'd gotten back. John had begun learning simple scales and arpeggios and had spent many hours at work, looking at and listening to samples of pieces. During Sherlock's latest depression, the doctor decided to memorize a piece in order to, if not impress, perhaps cheer up his flat mate. He was thankful that his mother had made him take the clarinet in school because the clefs were the same, meaning he didn't have to go through the trouble of learning how to read new music. He'd spent days searching the many caches of classical works before he stumbled upon Hey Jude by The Beatles.  He'd found the sheet music and saw that the notes weren't that difficult although the song was played on an electric violin, he'd have to make do.

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The next few weeks John found it difficult to get the flat to himself, although it may have just been him being impatient. It wasn't just that being alone was hard, but he saw that every time he'd pushed Sherlock out the door the detective had an unhappy and dejected look staining his features. John had to brush it off because he needed the time to get his present ready for the brunette. Then luck decided to find pity on him, or perhaps not. One day, as John was practicing one of the slow and light arias of the piece, there was a quiet tap on the door. Quickly jumping to the conclusion that he'd been caught, John threw the violin back in it's case as Mrs. Hudson answered the door. There was something different about the footsteps though, instead of being light they were heavy, deliberate, and the smallest of taps could be heard. John repositioned the violin, hoping the visitor would be quick so he could resume his practice. The living room door was closed so he heard the visitor muffled voice before he saw him.

"Oh don't let me stop your practicing John. Please continue."

"Sherlock isn't here Mycroft" His voice was a tad on the exasperated side as he opened the door to let him in but Sherlock hadn't left the house without John by his side in more than a week and he needed to practice.

"Oh I know, you told him some silly nonsense about having to work more hours at the hospital."

Mycroft said, rather matter-of- factly as he walked in and sat in his brother's favorite chair. John sometimes forgot that the eldest Holmes had eyes and ears everywhere.

"I've come because you need my help."

John tried not to let his curiosity show.

"I do?" he asked.

A short laugh puffed from the older man before he continued.

"Of course you do, you need the flat empty to work on…your project, and my incessant brother won't leave you alone." Mycroft gave John a knowing look and began toying with his umbrella handle. "And so, I've come to offer my assistance." He peered out the window, feigning disinterest, before meeting John's eyes. "I can get my brother out of the house for a few hours a week, and you get your privacy."

As he listened, the doctor slowly lowered the violin back to his lap.

"You and I both know that Sherlock won't fall for that." John huffed.

"Perhaps not, but we can still try." Mycroft replied languidly, all the while examining the tip of his umbrella.

Needing as much time as possible to practice the doctor finally caved, "Fine, we'll try it once, and if he takes the bait, I'm off Thursday's, you can abduct him then."

"My dear Watson, I don't believe I'll have to resort to kidnapping, yours was just a special case."

The blonde merely cleared his throat to the last comment and pulled the violin back under his chin.

"I assume we're done then?" he asked, the tone not quite friendly enough to be a true question but he got an answer nonetheless in the way of a crooked smile and short nod, although Mycroft gave no intentions of getting up. Instead, he waved his hand in a silent gesturing for John to continue, before placing it on his ever-present umbrella. John tried his best to ignore the older Holmes, and resumed playing. He quickly got to a spot in the music that he'd memorized and dared a glance at Mycroft, the older man's eyes had closed and the usually practiced smirk had faded into a sincere smile, the tell being the skin by his eyes crinkling slightly, and his upper body had slowly started swaying to the notes. Finally turning his attention back to the music, John finished the piece, watching the minutes pass as his spectator came out of his daydream, his face and posture languid and relaxed.

Finally the silence was broken, "You truly are quite good for a beginner, and you should thank your mother for making you learn the clarinet." The older Holmes said, his voice seemingly sincere.

Despite the sincerity, John couldn't help being slightly creeped out, and cleared his throat trying to diffuse the awkward moment. "um...thanks?"

With that, Mycroft left the flat. It wasn't until Johns eyes followed him as he left that he'd noticed Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway.

"You play beautifully dear. I heard you the last few weeks through the floorboards, but listening to it in person is so much nicer."  She said, her voice soft.

A small blush tinged the doctor's features as he silently reveled in the praise; perhaps he had been spending too much time with Sherlock.

Again he cleared his throat before continuing, "Thank you Mrs. Hudson, was there anything I could help you with?"

"Oh no, I just heard you start playing and wanted to listen, but would you mind playing it again, it is ever so lovely." She asked.

John chuckled, "Of course Mrs. Hudson, but I'm not your cabaret."

With another laugh he waited until his landlady was seated and ready before he started playing. The music engrossed another victim and even his own mind began to wander while he played, the swells and dips in the music making him sway in time. The piece seemed to end all to soon and a slam of the front door made the older lady jump to her feet.

"Don't worry deary." She said, "I'll distract him so you have time to put everything back"

And before John could say anything she was out the door. He heard her hurry down the stairs and the bright greeting she gave the detective.

_____________

Once again the instrument was back in its proper place and all the evidence was gone before the brunette got up to the living room. He wasn't even a step in the door before he stopped, a glower darkening his features.

"My brother has been here, why?" His head snapped to where his flat mate was currently sitting on the floor, his disheveled curls bobbing against his forehead. Cooly John answered, "He came to see you."

Seemingly unsatisfied with the answer Sherlock started toward his favorite chair, but once again stopped, "and he was in MY chair?! It's bad enough he was in our flat." He said, pouting, as he perched on his chair.

John sighed as he stood and stretched before walking into the kitchen. He quickly made two cups of tea before taking his usual spot on the couch. The day slowly slipped into a quiet evening, with John dozing on the couch and Sherlock eventually going to work on one experiment or another.

While drifting in and out of consciousness John decided that he would reveal his newly learned skill once Sherlock had fallen into one, of what the doctor had named, his black holes of boredom and hatred and kicked puppies. Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson's reaction had been the push he'd needed to make up his mind.

But a different scenario had come to light. Although having made the decision, John had come home to an empty flat; it wasn't unusual but he knew Sherlock didn't have any leads or cases and had been sitting at home the last few nights. Luckily he didn't have to wait long for his flat mate to get home, he'd just been searching for something to eat when he heard the door open and the stairs creak.

It wasn't until he had walked out of the kitchen that the doctor noticed Sherlock was carrying a bag, and out of curiosity John asked about it.

The detective seemed to have forgotten he had even been carrying it, considering he looked at the bag as if it was completely foreign to him, but instead of answering he'd put the bag on the coffee table.

As Sherlock fell onto the couch, John quickly peered into the bag and found, oddly enough, a pint of milk.

"Sherlock?" he asked.

Sherlock grunted into the fabric of the couch.

"Could you repeat that Sherlock?" John asked, leaning closer trying to interpret the noise.

A sigh came from the detective, "I said, you haven't talked to me in the last week, obviously you've been angry at me and I can't figure out why so I brought you a present." He said miserably.

Trying to contain his laughter the doctor quickly put the container in the fridge and walked back. Instead of reassuring the detective though, he decided now was the proper time to reveal his latest secret. He watched as Sherlock's shoulders tensed when John started to tune the instrument. Almost hesitantly the detective rolled over, his eyes pouring over his instrument in the hands of the doctor. Surprisingly the look threw John's thoughts into a tail spin between, 'What the bloody hell are you doing' and 'you're going to make an ass out of yourself and he's going to mock you for it.' But it was too late to back out now, so as best as he could John pushed the thoughts out and began playing.

Thankfully he had gotten his fingers to memorize the many chords in the piece; it made gauging Sherlock's reaction easier. At first his expression was vacant making John think that his skill wasn't what he'd actually expected, but then he saw something few had seen before. He watched the detective's usually high-strung body begin to relax, his shoulders sagging and his face tranquil as his eyes glazed over in memory and heard him begin to hum along. Unfortunately the song was over quickly and John had to put the instrument down and wait for the brunette's reaction. Languorously Sherlock stretched out his long limbs finally sitting up.

"Well?" John asked hesitantly with the worst-case scenarios running through his head.

"Well" Sherlock began, "your tuning was a bit off."

The doctor tried not to let the disappointment show on his face, but the detective laughed and continued, "Ohh do calm down John, the music was beautiful, thank you for playing it." He said matter-of-factly.

A blush tinted the doctor's cheeks, but Sherlock's smile soon turned to that of the cat who got the canary.

"You've known, haven't you!" John asked indignantly.

"Known what John?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

"Known that I've spent the last 3 months trying to surprise you. Go on, tell me how, I deserve that at least."  He sulked, falling onto the couch.

That made the detective laugh and his face softened before he launched into his deductions.

"I've upset you, I only knew you've been playing, not the music you chose. May I see your hand?" He asked

Reluctantly the doctor stuck out hand, Sherlock took it between his and stared at the palms and fingertips for a few moments before continuing.

"If you look, you'll notice you have new calluses, at first you had them just from the surgery equipment, but the metal strings have changed them."

Placing John's hand back in his lap he moved to the doctor's jaw, "Often when I came home you would have a red mark from the chin rest, and at first you were collar bone was slightly bruised from not using a neck rest. Then there was the rosin on your jumpers. You see it has a very distinct odor and I could smell it when you were standing close by, it's often from putting too much on the bow and it vibrating off the strings. Lastly, my violin was usually out of place albeit only a few inches but I could still tell."  He inched closer to John as he finished

The doctor, like usual, was stunned into silence by the observations.

Sherlock once again continued, "You know, mummy used to play that for Mycroft and I were boys. Often it was after a nightmare or during a thunderstorm."

John wasn't sure what to say to the unusual confession so he stayed quiet.

He watched as Sherlock's face once again slipped into some distant memory, "You truly did play brilliantly John and I'm glad I got to listen to it again." Sherlock let his head fall against John's shoulder.

From that point forward when Sherlock was troubled in-between cases, slipping into a depression, or having trouble sleeping John would carefully remove the violin from its velvet casing and slowly play the melody to help the detective think, stop thinking, or sleep.