Rules on the Fridge [A BBC Sherlock Holmes Fanfiction] (Completed)

And The Moon Sees Me

♪ My Music Will Tell You More About Me Than I Ever Will ♪

As it turned out, Sherlock was up all night trying to figure out what about that song had made Watson give that reaction. Especially since a moment before he had been so irritable about his violin playing.

Watson seemed unaffected by anything that night, having gotten up in the morning and worked around all the foreign equipment on the countertops to get himself something to eat. Sherlock didn't get up until very late. He had tried to sleep once the sun had come up, but had no luck.

He came out of his room disheveled, not having gotten dressed that day, or changed into pajamas the night before. His hair was but matted curls and his eyes were dark, bloodshot, and swollen from lack of sleep.

Watson gave him a good long look, and then made him hot cup of tea without a word. He handed it to him gingerly, getting a nod of thanks from Sherlock as he sipped it quietly, still thinking.

"What about that song made you get up?" Sherlock asked, his eyes lazing towards Watson, taking a rather large gulp of tea after his initial taste.

"What do you mean?" Watson asked, raising an eyebrow as he sipped his own cup. "I just remember that song from when I was young, brought me back I suppose."

"Why did you get out of bed? You could hear it from your room." Sherlock said, staring into his tea as his body moved sluggishly, but his mind clearly didn't.

"I dunno, wanted to hear it more clearly I suppose." Watson shrugged, setting down his tea to look at Sherlock. "Why do you ask? Is something about it troubling you?"

"Quite." Sherlock said, standing up suddenly, his tea just about splashing out of its cup. "I don't understand how a song that I must've heard on the radio caused you to get out of bed to listen to it. You were clearly agitated with my playing just prior to that song, why get up? I thought you were cross."

"I was cross," Watson said, raising his eyebrows, "but that song reminds me of when my mother would make me soup when I was ill as a child." He said, shrugging once more.

"Why do you enjoy remembering to be ill? Being ill is the worst thing to remember, I don't understand. You're not making any sense." Sherlock complained, placing down his tea to start pacing back and forth, his hands folded beneath his chin as his eyes darted around. "John, I don't understand!" He cried when nothing added up even though he was walking now.

"Sherlock, this is not something to fret about-" Watson sighed, but he was shushed promptly. He did not utter another word unless Sherlock asked a question, but every answer he gave only agitated him further. He wasn't sure why he was thinking about this rather than whining over a lack of a good case.

Maybe that was exactly why; he didn't have a good case so he wanted to solve this small mystery – one he didn't understand in the slightest.

♫ ♫ ♫

The only thing that stopped him from fretting over Watson and the song was his phone ringing beneath the couch cushion. He tore into the couch, grabbing his phone. He answered after a couple rings of just holding it in his hand, pacing once more. One hand was behind his back as he hummed into the phone, seeming uninterested.

"Right, so you want me to pop in to look at a dead body, of whom seemingly died of natural causes – but you have a suspicion it was a murder?" Sherlock mused, his facial expression void of any kind of hint as to what he was thinking.

"I'll be there in a bit." He said, hanging up, then jumping into the air and thrusting his fist above his head. He cheered and hooted for a moment, his pacing increasing in speed, his mouth unable to keep up with his mind as he voiced his thoughts aloud. "Oh, a good case! A good murder - and of natural causes; it must be murder if Lestrade thinks so, right?" Sherlock said as he pulled his jacket over his arms.