Hi All! This is the first fic I've written in years, so please be gentle with me. I might make a series of these musical drabbles, since it interests me- either that, or a series of Flatmate Conflict drabbles, as I find those somewhat inappropriately hilarious. If either interests you, let me know.
Disclaimer: Oh, to own Sherlock... and keep him in my closet... alas, 'tis not so.
...
John had found out within moments of meeting Sherlock that he played the violin. "After all," Sherlock had commented, "potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." John hadn't thought much of it at the time.
But at five in the morning after a night spent chasing Sherlock across the whole bloody city and shooting a serial killer, John's consciousness was slowly prodded surfacewards by ceaseless droning noise.
In the time it took for him to give up on falling back asleep and sit blearily upright, the sound stopped. To be replaced by short bursts of sound. On the same note. Over. And over. And over.
John stumbled around the not-yet-familiar room, looking for clothes (swooping noises now, incredibly high-pitched), found his way to the door (sustained notes, wobbling dangerously), and down the stairs (an annoyingly chipper melodic fragment, repeated endlessly.) As he burst into the sitting room, Sherlock finished with a flourish and turned. "Yes, John?"
"What on earth was that?"
Sherlock grinned maniacally. "I'm just warming up."
And then he launched into a beautiful piece, actual music, and John had a moment to think, This is more of what I imagined when he said he played-
Until Sherlock's fingers stumbled.
And he frowned.
And started, over and over, to repeat just that bit.