Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XXXVII • 37

Your POV:

You sat in your flat, mindlessly petting Bowie, and trying to figure it out. How he'd done it. At this point, there was no doubt in your mind that he was still alive. He must've faked it. Sure, he was a git, and sure, he didn't care about other people's feelings, but he cared about you. And he cared about John. He wouldn't do this to you.
"How do you think he did it, Bo?" You asked your dog. He looked at you, then laid his head back down.
"Yeah, I don't know either." You replied. You scratched his head, and he sighed.
"I miss him, Bowie. I miss him so much."
He curled up next to you and put his head in your lap. He did that when he felt you were sad. It always helped. You smiled.
"Good boy."
For the first time since you'd moved, you felt the desire to play again. Sherlock had deduced that you played piano, but had stopped. He was right. You had stopped. You'd played ever since you were a child, but you hadn't often felt the need after moving in with the Watsons. You had played again briefly when John left for war, and again when you'd heard he was injured. It helped in your darkest moments.
You'd not only played, but composed as well.
You hadn't felt the need after you'd moved back to London, because you were never so upset that you needed it. Your playing was strictly therapeutic. Besides, you could listen to Sherlock if you just needed a music fix.
You'd actually helped him compose once. You knew he didn't need help, but he'd appreciated your input. He'd known why you'd stopped playing, and he knew that helping him compose was difficult for you. He'd taught you violin music, and accepted your ideas. In fact, he rather liked your perspective on it. The two of you had written a piece and he'd given you the sheet.
"In case you ever need to play again." He'd said. In that moment you knew that he knew. You'd not told him, in fact it hadn't come up since the first day you'd met and he'd deduced that you played at all. But you knew that he knew why you played. That's why he'd said if you ever need to play again rather than if you ever decide to play again. It was like an acknowledgment of your decision, and a reminder that he knew and he understood and that you could talk to him.
But you hadn't looked at it, hadn't even taken it out of the envelope he'd put it in.
Now you took it off your bookshelf and opened it.
You recognised the notes, but there was something different. He had transposed it into piano music.
You felt tears come to your eyes, but you smiled through them.
He'd done that just for you, just so that you could play your song.

You folded the music back up and slid it into the envelope, then grabbed your jacket and headed out the door. You sent your cab to the nearest music shop, where you knew you could play the piano that was set up inside.

When you arrived, you went straight to the back of the store and sat down at the piano. It was a beautiful instrument, and although you knew it was only available to play as a ruse to get you to buy it, you didn't feel bad about playing it.
Perhaps you would buy one.
You set the music out on the stand, and began.
As each note resonated, you began to feel better. You could hear him playing in harmony, see him smiling. You knew he'd be happy that you were playing again rather than bottling it up.
"You play beautifully." A deep voice startled you. You whipped around, half expecting to see Sherlock standing there.
It was a young, auburn haired man.
"What's wrong? You look disappointed." He sounded genuinely concerned.
"It's-it's nothing." You stuttered. "You just reminded me.. reminded me of someone I knew. Someone who died recently."
"I'm sorry." He looked sad that he had upset you.
He was really quite attractive.
No. No, he was still out there. He was the only one you loved.
"Thank you." You said.
"For what?" He asked.
"You said I played nicely. Thank you."
"Oh, don't thank me. I was only stating the obvious." He gave you a crooked smile. "I don't recognise the piece though. What is it?"
"I wrote it- well me and the friend I told you about." You paused. "That's why I'm playing it."
"Did they play?"
"Violin. But he transposed the music to piano for me." You smiled.
The young man took a violin down from where it hung on the wall. That was when you noticed his name tag.
Zak - Manager
"Go ahead, play again." He nodded at you.
You turned back toward the piano and resumed playing. After a moment,  Zak joined in. He was harmonising by ear. You smiled again.
When the piece ended, you turned toward him.
"Thank you. That sounded more like..." You trailed off, looking away.
"I'm sorry." He said gently. "I didn't mean to-"
"No it's fine. I appreciate it. You play very well."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me, I was just stating the obvious." You gave him a half smile and he grinned.