“So, Wayne, um, this is where you will live. For now,” said John awkwardly, as Wayne heaved his duffel bag through the thick dark doors of 221B Baker Street and onto the stairs.
John exhaled. He had been a bit overwhelmed over these few days, with him doing all the talking to silent Wayne, and soothing Sherlock who acted as though no one had come and playing rapidly on his violin, not eating or even speaking for all day long.
John got his cup of tea from the kitchen, and stood shocked for a while at the door. Sherlock was playing a mild tune and Wayne was simply sitting on the couch, watching him. The thing that amazed John was, for the first time since they met, he saw light and awe in Wayne’s eyes.
Wayne noticed John’s stare and went back to picking at his nails, a rather nasty habit of his. John sighed, knowing this was a sign of nervous and anxiety. He casually sat down next to Wayne, who hadn’t moved a muscle after he got into the room and sat down on the sofa, with his duffel bag still packed with clothes and everything he needed inside.
“You like the violin?” John asked, sipping his tea. Wayne simply stared at the skull at the far end of the room. Sherlock stopped playing and settled himself, along with his violin, into his armchair, his violin on his lap, absently fiddling with his bow.
Wayne silently stared at the violin. He said softly, “Dad promised.” John straightened himself a bit. “He promised what?” Wayne continued his silence, staring now at Sherlock.
“John, isn’t it clear enough? His dad obviously promised to teach him how to play the violin,” Sherlock said, the first full sentence he’d said in days. John looked over to Wayne. He’s… sad? John thought, suddenly astounded as it’s the thing closest to emotion Wayne had shown since they’d met him.
Wayne stared at Sherlock’s curls. Then he got up and walked to the tiny bathroom Mrs Hudson had downstairs. John heard a muffled sniff.
“Sherlock?” he asked. When he turned, however, his flatmate was already back to his experiments in the kitchen. “Bloody hell! How many times have I told you not to put your flasks at the edge of the table! Rosie might break it or, even worse, hurt herself!” “Then just forbid her from coming inside, John. Obviously,” Sherlock said, not looking from his microscope.
John rolled his eyes. How. Had. He. Managed. To. Live. With. This. Man. For. Years???
“Because you love him,” said a voice faintly in his head.
Word: 438
A/N: this is basically the shortest chapter i've ever written. gomenasai...
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Adopted to be a Holmes
Fanfic"A couple have been murdered. now, i need you two to come and investigate." Sherlock and John arrived at the crime scene, and on the swing in the garden, sat a boy wrapped in a shock blanket. He, Wayne Ballard, is the son of the murdered couple. "So...
