(Elanor's POV)
The lilting, whining harmony of a pair of violins sounded through Baker Street, cutting gently against the crisp spring morning.
After rushing from my office in Scotland Yard to Sherlock's flat, expecting... Well honestly, I didn't know what I was expecting... I stayed with Sherlock. But at that point I was just annoyed that I'd been dragged from work. I hadn't been scheduled to come in, luckily, considering the day, so I'd just been catching up on paperwork when Lestrade's call came in.
I'd left my violin here the last time I came for a "jam session" with Sherlock, which was also a lucky thing, meaning I wouldn't have to stop at my own flat again to pick it up before I needed to use it again. The tune that played was lovely; melancholy and gentle, yet sweet and endearing. I watched Sherlock, smirking as we moved in a steady rhythmic motion to the soft cadence of the notes. He didn't meet my eyes, but his hand squeezed mine, my body brushing against his, his other hand on my hip as we danced, turning in a circle to a swell in the music just as Mrs Hudson entered the room. I felt a panicked blush heat my face, and Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at the door.
"Shut up, Mrs Hudson." He said, his hand travelling up my back slightly.
"I haven't said a word," she protested, smiling. I dropped my hand from Sherlock's shoulder as he sighed, releasing my waist.
"You're formulating a question and it's physically painful watching you think." He huffed, letting his hands fall as he sought out the remote to his iPod, on which played the gentle violin we had been dancing to. I stepped away from him, my cheeks still hot with embarrassment.
"I thought it was the two of you playing," Mrs Hudson said, raising an eyebrow.
"It was us... playing..." Sherlock huffed in exasperation, shutting off the music and hunching over to scribble in a few more notes on his sheet. "I am composing."
"You were dancing." She corrected in soft delight as she set down the tray on a side table. "You and Elanor were dancing."
"I was road-testing." Sherlock countered, still scratching away with his pencil. I assumed he was writing in my harmonies, but I made a face.
"You what?" Mrs Hudson chirped.
"I'm trying not to be offended by that." I commented. He glanced up at me with a sharp look, then throwing down the pencil, huffed, "Why are you here?" at his landlady.
"I'm bringing you your morning tea." She replied as she poured cream into his cup, then revealing another from the opposite side of the tray, doctored mine as well. "You're not usually awake."
"You bring me tea in the morning?" He muttered vaguely, flopping into his armchair.
"Where'd you think it came from?" Mrs Hudson chuckled incredulously.
"I don't know, I just thought it sort of...happened." He said, flapping his hands in an obscure sort of gesture.
"Your mother has a lot to answer for." She murmured, handing us each our tea. I muttered a quiet "thank you" and accepted, sipping cautiously.
"Mmm, I know." Sherlock replied. "I have a list." Taking the cup and saucer, Sherlock paused before adding quietly, "Mycroft has a file."
"Oh, dear." I laughed softly. Sherlock shot me another look.
"So, it's the big day, then." Mrs Hudson whispered excitedly, settling herself in John's armchair and patting her thighs in anticipation. I grinned, the thought of the ceremony to commense in a few hours filling me with delight.
