Deadly Grapefruit

part one

Sherlock sits in his armchair, every inch of black leather a flat surface, all straight lines and a sleek metal frame supporting the outside edges of the chair, as he gazes ahead and stares at nothing. John is within Sherlock's eyesight in the kitchen, doing something at the counter he can't see. The flat they share is silent, save for the sound of the kettle boiling out of view – that must be what John's up to.

A minute after the kettle boils, John enters the living room with two cups of tea in hand, confirming Sherlock's assumption. John offers one mug to him and sits in his chair with the other. John's chair couldn't be more opposite to Sherlock's; all curves and soft edges, it has a real homely feel to it with a soft blanket thrown over the back. Each armchair epitomises its user: John is comfort and softness; Sherlock is practical and methodical.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock says, taking a slurping sip of the hot liquid.

John's eyes flick up from his newspaper with a glare at the disturbing sound. "No problem. Any news of a client yet?" he asks.

"Not yet, though the day is still young," Sherlock answers, his darting eyes scanning the back of the newspaper for anything interesting. Nothing. God, sedentary was boring.

Sherlock tips his head back and sloshes a mouthful of tea into his mouth. He quietly groans in discomfort as it burns his throat but otherwise remains unfazed as he rises to his feet. Placing his mug on the desk and crossing the room, Sherlock collects his violin and bow and faces the window.

Slim fingers curl around the fingerboard as he rests the instrument on his shoulder, bringing up his bow to lay beside the bridge. He closes his eyes and breathes out softly, bringing the piece to mind. He lifts his bow to begin his note...

...and his phone ringing in his pocket breaks his reverie, filling the silence instead of his music.

Scowling, Sherlock transfers his bow to his left hand and fishes his phone out from his suit jacket pocket.

"Sherlock Holmes," he answers.

"Sherlock, it's Lestrade." Through the earpiece he hears Detective Inspector Lestrade's tinny voice.

"Ah, Detective. Got another case for me?"

"Yeah, I do. You like the unusual ones, don't you?"

"Correct, Detective Inspector. What have you got for me this time?"

"Well, I think you'd better have a look yourself. I'll text you the address."

Sherlock ends the call and turns to John, who still has his nose in the paper. "Come along, John, we have a case!" Collecting his long coat from the back of the door, Sherlock glides down the stairs without a second look back, knowing with certainty that John would follow. John heaves a sigh as he swallows his mouthful of tea before clambering after Sherlock.