Memorandum (Sherlock Fanfic) (On Hold)

Violin

~Sherlock~

When Mycroft returned, I ignored him for a moment and continued to think. How would I phrase my questions to him? Hmm. I tapped my chin thoughtfully.

"Mycroft?" I heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Yes, Sherlock?" I ignored the usage of the name, I needed information.

"Who was I? I talked to the nurse, she said you told her that I tried to commit suicide by by jumping off a building. My question is this, why on earth would I do that? Was I really that unhappy with my life?"

"Honestly, I have no idea why you jumped," he seemed uncomfortable with the subject,"but I'm willing to bet it wasn't becuase you were unhappy."

I nodded, accepting his answer.

"You once referred to yourself a a high functioning sociopath. You really only associated with four people, me, your friend and flatmate John, Detective inspector LeStrade and your land lady Mrs. Hudson. You are brilliant though, the world's only consulting detective, according to you." He smiled as he finished the last sentence.

My eyes flicked open. "Really?"

He nodded.

Sociopath, sociopath, it took my frazzled brain a moment to supply the definition. According to... myself I guess, I'm extremely antisocial and have no conscience. Interesting. I guess that a person would only describe themself as such if they really meant it. It doesnt't seem to be the kind of thing to joke about.

Mycroft cleared his throat nervously.

"I brought some things for you."

I looked at him. What did he bring? My interest was piqued.

He picked up a case from the floor, a violin case. Did I play violin? Could I still? For some reason I desperatly wanted to try. He set it on the edge of the bed and reached down to grab somthing else. I watched as he slowly set sheet music on top of the violin case. He looked at me steadily, trying to gauge my reaction.

Hands shaking I picked up the sheet music. Handwritten, all of it. I squinted at it trying to decipher how it could posssibly translate into music. Laying it aside for now I picked up to violin, my hands trembling so badly I worried I might drop it. I set it on my lap and slowly unlatched the lid of the case. Inside lay a lovely rosewood instrument that just begged to be played. Without thinking I lifted the violin from the case and plucked the strings. It felt so natural and good that I did it again. A small smile tugged at my lips as I rested the violin under my chin. I took the bow out of the case and held it against the strings hoping against hope that I could rely on my muscles to know what to do.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was now or never. I slid the bow across the strings. The first note was a bit strangled but I could hear the music in my mind and my hand knew just how to bring it into being. My fingers and bow danced across the strings, producing a haunting melody that should have been far beyond me but somehow wasn't.

Stopping abruptly, I looked at Mycroft who was sitting there with a smug, pleased expression on his face.

"Get me paper and a pencil, now." I said not caring that it was rude. He just looked at me. "Please."

He swung his briefcase onto his lap and produced both of them. I looked around for something to write on. In my hurry I decided on the violin case. Quickly, I jotted down there symbols to represent what I had just played. As I finished, I realized what I had done. The notes that had been gibberish before now made perfect sense. Picking up one of the other sheets I compared the handwriting, yes, definitely mine.

I was considering playing more when Mycroft spoke again.

"There's something else I should give you." He handed me a small laptop.

"Why are you giving me this?" I asked confused.

"I thought you might want to look yourself up. There are two webpages open in the internet browser that might help dredge up some memories."

I opened the computer and looked at the screen. I looked at the first one then clicked on the other, neither rung a bell.

"Should these be important to me?"

"Well, Sherlock, the first one is yours. It gives a very brief explanation of what you do. The other is the blog of your one and only friend, John Watson. It tells about the cases you've worked on together."

I nodded, and pulled the first site up again. Mycroft glanced at his watch.

"Well I should be off, I'll leave you to it. If you need anything from me just ask the nurse and she will contact me."

I nodded again. He sighed and left, obviously annoyed by my dismissive attitude.

I, according to Mycroft, had written the webpage. The homepage read:

I'm Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective.

I'm not going to go into detail about how I do what I do because chances are you wouldn't understand. If you've got a problem that you want me to solve, then contact me. Interesting cases only please.

This is what I do:

1. I observe everything. 2. From what I observe, I deduce everything. 3. When I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth.

If you need assistance, contact me and we'll discuss its potential.

I really wish I had gone into more detail. It seemed I had never pictured myself in this situation. Of course, who could. I had probably been very confident in my own intellect and therefore cocky. I clicked on a few of the other links on the website, feeling a little miffed when they didn't really seem to lead anywhere. Oh well, maybe the other website would be more helpful.

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If this gets five more votes I will add another chapter!