The Post-it Predicament (a Sherlockxreader fan fiction)

Two- Violins and Tea

A/N: Ello reader-chan! Thanks for reading this far! By the way o VERY HIGHLY RECOMMEND LISTENING TO THE SONG WHILE IT APPEARS IN ThE STORY. IT IS A VERY BEAUTIFUL PIECE and goes with the story a great deal in the future. Thanks guys! Love you all!!

Your POV

You woke up to the sun filling your eyes and your right leg aching. Slowly, you sat up from where you were laying, moving the soft, white, duvet. You pulled a strand of your hair down in front of you. It was starting to curl at the end, causing you to believe that it had recently gotten wet. Your clothes felt heavy as well, confirming the theory.
You looked around, your surroundings blurry from your recent slumber. You jumped. This isn't right, you thought. Where am I. W-who am I? You felt tears weld up in your eyes but you pushed them back. Something inside of you, an instinct, told you not to let fear show.
"Morning," you heard a deep voice say behind you. You whipped around, not showing fear but alertness.
"W-where am I?" You asked quietly. The man look extremely familiar to you. His dark brown curls and high cheekbones somehow connected to your story, you just didn't know how.
"You're in 221b Baker Street. You came here, last night." The man said.
Memories began rushing back to you.

You had woken up on a park bench. The only things you had with you were the clothes on your back and a small bag. You began to walk around wondering if anyone knew you or your situation. You nonchalantly searched through the bag and pulled out a yellow post it note. On it said "Sherlock Holmes 221b Baker St. :)"

"A-are you Sherlock Holmes?!" You questioned.

"Hello. Yes, we went over this last night. I suppose he real question of the matter is who are you?"

"I..." You got quiet. You knew the answer. You wanted to desperately to know the answer. You felt the words inside but got so frustrated when they refused to come out. "I don't know."

Sherlock jumped up and came over to the couch you were sitting on. He sat across from you on it, looking you up and down.
"Well good." He said smiling. Why was he smiling, this wasn't a happy moment to any normal person. To begin, you couldn't remember your name. Also, you randomly walked up to this guys house and crashed on his couch.
"Why good?" You asked.
"Because I do."
"You do?!" You felt excited. Not overly excited, you didn't want to come off too strong. This man was attractive, you didn't want to come off as a fool.
"I do!" He said excitedly back. "But first, how about tea?"
"Tea?"
"Yes tea! What kind of host would I be without offering refreshments?!"
You sat wondering a moment. This seemed out of character for the dark looming persona you had just encountered and had blurry memories of the night before.
"Yes, I suppose."
He sauntered into the kitchen and set water to boil. You had laid back again on the sofa, realizing that you were still extremely tired.
A few seconds later, he returned out to the sitting room, but instead of acknowledging you, he walked over the window, and picked up a violin. He carefully picked up the bow and glided it over the strings gracefully.
You sat in awe at the man playing the extremely intricate piece with complete perfection. It lasted a long time, a whole sonata, but you could barely notice. The music changed so much throughout that you felt the story throughout and could help but watch as Sherlock swayed back and forth feeling the music all the way down to his toes. A feeling that to you felt familiar but distant.
He finished abruptly and poured the cups of tea.
You didn't know what you say. You jumped up from your place, cursing yourself for stepping on your leg and looked at the sheet music. That's where the piece ended. He truly finished it.

Sherlock brought you your tea and lead you back over to sit down and joined you.
"So anyway, I know your name is (full name) and that you're 24 years old. Your identification says you're from Dublin but with your lack of an Irish accent, I'm guessing you moved there recently. Also, you can't remember anything but there is no sign of head trauma leading me to believe that you've been drugged. Maybe you've been out partying, some guy was getting to close, you seemed uninterested, he didn't like it, drugged you. That was my first guess. Then I found this," he held up the post it. "Why would you have this, also why would that man bring you to London of all places and what would he have to do with me? Nothing, that's what. You're hair has been recently washed so you couldn't have been passed out for anymore than 12 hours. Whatever drug it was, it was fast acting. I'm going to figure that out soon, but this!" He examined the note, "this is interesting. "
"How do you know that stuff about me?" You asked softly still trying to take in the information.

"I read your id the rest was just common sense. I also know that you play the piano. Judging by your hands and the strength of your pinkies you are good, quite good, but you haven't played for a while. Also, you play a string instrument, not the violin though, you seemed too intrigued with what I was doing to play that. Maybe guitar or cello, I'm not sure, but we can figure that out tomorrow. I can tell you're tired so I've decided that you can sleep in johns old room. Tomorrow we can sort out the rest."
"Wait, you're gonna let me stay here?"
"Of course, Miss (last name). I've taken your case. Plus, your identification didn't have an address."
***
Sherlock helped you walk to Johns old room and get into the bed. He had deduced that your leg was a terribly sprained ankle caused by struggle. This lead him to think that you had tried to fight whoever was drugging you.
When he spoke to you and looked you in the eye you saw him light up. In a way that made you believe that he knew more than you (and probably did) and wasn't telling you everything.
"There you go, now get some sleep" he said as he began to walk out the door.
"Sherlock," you said stopping him. "What was that piece you were playing?"
He sat down on the bed and chuckled. "It's called The Devils Trill. Giuseppe Tartini. It is said that it came to him in a dream. He dreamt he was testing the devils abilities by giving him his violin. The devil played a piece so beautiful and so perfect that Tartini sat in awe. He woke up and wrote down what he remembered, but died knowing that it wasn't perfect. That he wouldn't meet the standard that was set before him in the dream." Sherlock told the story to you like a fairy tale to a toddler and you listened Inquisitively.
"It was truly...amazing" you said and Sherlock looked at you. His eyes lit up and he smiled.
"Oh well, it's better with a piano accompaniment."

A/N: hey! Hope you liked this chapter. the Devils Trill is actually an excellent piece and that story is a true legend about the song. I think it's absolutely amazing. What do you think? Do you like this story?! I promise you're character is going to woman up, like a lot. You're just kind of confused right now. Thanks again for reading and voting and commenting. LOVE YOU!!!

Toodles,

*Moose*