"For God's sake, Sherlock!"
Sherlock kept his eyes closed, but a small smile graced his lips as footsteps pounded down the stairs from the bedroom above.
He remained standing by the window, drawing his bow lightly across the violin strings, swaying slightly as each note pierced the chilly air. The music, improvised and changing, reverberated around the room, groaning and sobbing and cheering and roaring as he saw fit.
"Sherlock, I'm begging you here, it's two o'clock in the morning. Please stop."
Sherlock sniffed haughtily and threw a few high pitched notes in his roommate's direction, smiling inwardly as John huffed and shifted his weight to his other foot; a clear sign of agitation.
"Sherlock, I have work in the morning. I have to be up in…four hours, God…" John trailed off as he rubbed his face with his hands and leant against the wall.
"If you desire sleep, John, simply block me out," Sherlock said over his shoulder, pausing in his music.
"Block you out? Seriously?" John sputtered. "You do realize how loud you're being? I tried earplugs, you know. Didn't help."
"It's a simple mental process, John. Basic enough for even your one-track mind, surely." He smiled thinly at John's blurry reflection in the window. "Though your inability to sleep with anything but complete silence is, frankly, worrisome."
"This coming from the man who needs everyone to stop thinking just so he can focus."
Sherlock finally turned to glare at him. "I require absolute silence to make the mental connections in the most complicated of cases, John. I really doubt anything that you ever do will be as complex."
"Oh, yeah, thanks," John muttered, stifling a yawn. "Surgery is as easy as blowing bubbles."
"Don't be dramatic," Sherlock growled, turning back to the window and letting loose a string of angry notes that bounced against the glass and screamed across the room. "Surgery is simple compared to what I do."
"Simple?" John scoffed in disbelief. "You think surgery is…simple? You think cutting people apart and stitching them back up is… is fucking easy? You think that holding people's body parts together with your own fingers while they're bleeding all over you is fucking easy? You think having someone's life in your hands is fucking easy?" He was yelling by the time he was finished, his hands clenched into fists at his side, his breath coming quick and unsteady.
Sherlock smirked at him, swinging his bow lazily through the air. "Surgery is planned and anatomy doesn't change. You know exactly what you'll find depending on where you cut. My line of work takes me into the unknown. Your job doesn't involve solving any mysteries, you simply follow a pattern. Dull." He punctuated his last word with a particularly violent swish of the bow before spinning back to the window and quickly sawing out an aggressive progression of angry sharps.
"Sherlock, you-" John pursed his lips and glared at the floor, breathing deeply. When he'd gotten himself slightly under control, he continued, his voice slightly strangled. "Sherlock, my job is difficult, and important. People trust me with their lives. If I'm exhausted at work, people might die."
Sherlock ignored him, playing quickly through the minor scales, higher and higher.
"Sherlock…Sherlock, just once, please listen to me."
Sherlock frowned and switched to major keys, the ironic, cheery notes bouncing about the room.
"Fine. That's it. That's fucking it." John muttered. He walked straight across the room to Sherlock, who turned with a slight smile on his face, prepared for another argument.
What he wasn't prepared for was for John to reach out, pluck his bow from his hand, and snap it cleanly in half over his knee.
Sherlock's mouth fell open in uncharacteristic, total shock. He stared at John's retreating figure in complete disbelief, which was quickly replaced with outrage.
"You broke my bow!" he roared at John, slamming his violin back into its case and storming after the shorter man.
"Good deduction, that," John calmly called over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs.
"You…you…" Sherlock sputtered angrily from behind him, "you…you broke my bow!"
"Getting repetitive there, Sherlock," John commented from his bedroom door before slamming it in the consulting detective's face.
John grinned to himself as he climbed back into bed, and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
A/N: No idea how long this piece will end up being, but a chapter two is definitely forthcoming. Reviews would be lovely!