The Lazarus Machine

Chapter 13

Thirty long minutes later the manor's gravel drive finally stretched before them and John took a deep breath before heading towards the house.

"Oh!  Are you going to the downstairs or upstairs sitting room, John?"

"I had thought to go to my room for a while, actually."

"That's near enough the upstairs sitting room.  Leave your door ajar."

"What?  Why?"  But Sherlock had already dashed up the stairs and by the time John made it there, he'd disappeared somewhere into the house.

John looked up the broad staircase.  He'd overdone it with Sherlock in the countryside this morning.  He wanted to do little but rest.  And he had absolutely no idea what Sherlock had in mind when he so elegantly sprinted away.

Meade took his overcoat and followed him up the staircase making sure he wouldn't fall.  Once John was safely in his room, he abandoned his jacket and cravat with Meade as well, and let himself fall into his favorite chair by the fireplace.  Meade helped him lift his leg onto a low footstool.

"Leave the door ajar, Meade."

"Sir?"  When it became clear John didn't have an answer for him, Meade responded, "Yes, of course, sir," and left the room.

John closed his eyes and let himself slump into the chair.  He hadn't slept much lately.  He might do for a nod in the chair after gamboling about all morning.  Perhaps it might even be restful.

And then, music.  That was something he hadn't heard in this house in years.  Even when he had, it was inexpertly played pianoforte at a small entertainment, nothing grander.  But this lone violin was quite grand.  John almost got up to explore the source of the melody, but realized it simply had to be Sherlock.  Harry never took to an instrument and John couldn't imagine Lord Sherrinford playing with such fervor.

John listened to the music creeping in through his door until his eyes grew unaccountably heavy and he fell asleep.