Rain battered against the window as John stared out, his reflection looking faintly back at him. The sky over the city was grey, overcast with clouds that shut out the warming rays of the sun. Though it was only 4:30 PM, John felt like it was closer to 10. His phone vibrated in his pocket, catching his attention. He looked down, desperate for something to clear away his boredom.
We’re out of milk, right? –SH
Yes, why? Do you need me to get some? –JW
After tapping out his reply and hitting send, John turned away from the window. The flat was quiet without his companion to make things interesting. He stood up, sighing, and paced the length of the living room. Sherlock’s chair was empty except for his violin, which rested against the smooth fabric that covered the chair. John looked at it for a moment, wondering just how Sherlock could produce such brilliance simply by running the bow along the strings. He imagined that Sherlock had somehow memorized pages and pages of sheet music, only to use them to calm his mind during perplexing cases.
What’s your favorite ice cream flavor? –SH
John thought for a moment, pondering Sherlock’s intention behind these obscure questions. His thumb tapped softly on the keys of his mobile as he tried to find a response.
Well, I suppose chocolate with brownies in it. –JW
John took a step toward the violin, temptation rising within him. Maybe just a note or two… he thought. His fingers pressed against the palm of his hand, and he imagined that he was pressing them against the taut strings of Sherlock’s violin.
And I suppose you like chocolate syrup with that, John? –SH
Of course I do, Sherlock. –JW
The curiosity of the feeling that playing Sherlock’s violin would provide grew the longer John stared at it. He eyed the glint of light that reflected off the polished body of the instrument. Before he knew it, his hand had wrapped around the neck of the violin. Just as he lifted the violin to his shoulder, his mobile vibrated again.
Put my violin down… -SH
John ignored the message and pressed his chin against the rest. He smiled, grabbing the bow from the chair and raised it. Softly, he pressed it against the strings and drew it along them, producing a horrid sound. The sound made John shiver. He was far too used to hearing good music come from the beautiful instrument. The small mobile vibrated across the small table, and John glanced down at it.
I said put it down. –SH
Rolling his eyes, John laughed and continued to try playing. His attempts were far below mediocre, even at best, but the army doctor was too focused to quit. Finally, John managed to produce one solid, unwavering note. He was beaming in accomplishment when suddenly the bow and violin were snatched from him.
“I told you to put my violin down, John Hamish Watson.” A familiar voice snapped.
John pouted. “But I just wanted to try it.”
There was silence between them for a few moments before John a pair of arms wrap around him, filling him with warmth. A pale hand tightly gripped the neck of the violin and raised the back end to John’s shoulder. Electric shivers shot down John’s spine at the closeness between the two of them as Sherlock slipped the bow into his hand. John relaxed, allowing Sherlock to guide him to the strings of the violin.
“Now, you’re going to want to press pretty hard on the strings to get the right sound…” Sherlock said in a low tone, pushing his hand against John’s.
He wrapped John’s fingers around the neck, positioning them on the strings just the right way, and pressed his fingers down, producing beautiful music when John pulled the bow slowly.
“Perfect.” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear. “Just perfect.”
