Down The Line
John's eyes flashed open in the darkness- as a sharp toot filled the flat. He yelped, rolling sideways off his bed with a resounding thump. The toot stopped for a moment and John could have sworn he'd heard a deep chuckle coming through the floorboards underneath.
John rubbed his head, groaning- the other hand massaging his damaged shoulder that sod's law he landed on. He stood, rotating his shoulder, his other hand reaching for his dressing gown. He gave a sour look to the side of the bed where his lover should have been, yet he seemed determined to wake John up. He was going to murder Sherlock.
"You know I think preferred the violin" John whispered huskily from the corner. Sherlock's eyes flashed from his seat in the corner of the room. He unfolded himself his legs from beneath him, and placed the offending instrument on the arm of the chair next to him. He steepled his fingers under his chin, regarding John with his probing silvery grey eyes, before flickering upwards to a suspicious stain on the wall above his boyfriends head. He didn't recall that being there before.
"Sherlock- why on earth are you playing the godforsaken saxophone at 2 o'clock in the morning? " John muttered, flopping on the settee with a heavy thump, the material sagging beneath him. Sherlock nodded, not taking his eyes off the stain. Strange- must have been from the exploding test tube earlier.
"Killer in Lestrade's latest case played the saxophone- we found his reed at the crime scene. There was also a faint smell of alcohol and cigarettes, although we know the killer did neither, that evening at least otherwise there would have been nicotine marks along with the finger bruises on the victims neck and I don't know if you've ever tried to strangle someone after a drink or two- doesn't work" he muttered darkly, ignoring the curious and worried look that John shot in his direction. He grabbed the instrument that he'd found in the charity street down the road and looked at the curved wind instrument.
"Therefore, the killer and his victim were in surroundings that involved the two of these- quite prominently too otherwise the smell wouldn't have been quite so obvious, in fact you wouldn't smell it at all. Now the victim was also a musician, there were various music books and instruments around her house- she loved them too, she had countless amounts of instruments none of them cheap. So where would a musician go on a Saturday night, where she would encounter cigarette smoke and drink in copious amounts and meet other musicians, one of whom would follow her home and strangle her." He looked at John expectantly, and rolled his eyes as John simply, yawned and rubbed his eyes, muttering something that vaguely sounded like "dunno".
"A jazz bar- honestly John did you not see her CD's and records?" he threw his hands up in the air as John continued to look at him blankly. He groaned, picking up the instrument and beginning to twiddle with the knobs on it.
"Therefore I have to learn the saxophone to go to the Black Nightingales open night next week- perfect cover to find the killer, I have my suspicions about the bar tender" he said, fiddling with the instrument.
John frowned.
"The Black Nightingale?" he asked, squinting his eye in confusion. Sherlock shot him a look that blatantly said "seriously John, seriously? He let out a heavy sigh.
"We know the victim walked, or more likely run due to the weather that night she had a wet umbrella in her hand and defiantly did not have enough money to have taken a cab. Therefore she walked, and I don't know if you noticed her shoes but no woman could walk to far in those shoes- so the only bar within walking distance is-"he looked at John to supply the answer.
"The Black Nightingale?" John said. Sherlock nodded and repeated the name. There was silence in the room for a moment.
"So that's why you're learning the saxophone?" John said slowly. Sherlock sighed again and looked over at him with raised eyebrows.
"Yes John- that is why I am learning the saxophone... satisfied?" he said sarcastically. John pursed his lips.
"Why not just take the violin- at least you can hold a tune..." he was silenced with a twitch of Sherlock's eyebrow's. They arched upwards into his hair.
"That is why I have to practice- besides the stupid things out of tune." he hissed, giving the instrument a slight thump against the seat. Wind whistled through the instrument causing it to whine pathetically.
"Oh shush" Sherlock hissed at it.
"Hey, don't blame the sax- give it here" John muttered holding his hand out. Sherlock frowned at him for a moment, before slowly handing it over.
John twiddled for a moment, occasionally bringing the instrument to his lips, playing a short note before going back to twiddling. When he was satisfied he brought the instrument to his lips, closed his eyes and allowed his fingers to do the talking.
Sherlock smiled shocked as a familiar tune reached his ears and he sat transfixed, leaning forwards to hear John play. John's eyes flashed open as the solo ended, and he found himself locked in Sherlock's gaze. He flushed to his roots and dropped the instrument.
The side's of Sherlock's lips curved upwards.
"Baker Street?" he said with a question in his voice. John flushed even deeper.
"Yeah- it seemed apt" he said avoiding Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock nodded and smirked.
"Never knew you played- how peculiar. Although it explains a lot- why you're so good at=-" "YES OK" John interjected. Sherlock smirked at his horrified expression.
"John- you are aware that there is no-one else in this room. I already know that you're good at- that" he faltered in his bravery as John gave him a warning look. John rolled his eyes.
"Yes... ok... I see your point" he said, grumpy and embarrassed. Sherlock sat backwards and enjoying his lover's flushed red face and flustered demeanour. John heaved himself to his feet with a groan, leaving the saxophone on the seat.
"Getting old John..." Sherlock said smirking. John growled under his breath.
"Yes I am Sherlock, I am getting old. And I am tired- so if you don't mind I am going to bed" he said walking from the room. He stopped in the doorway as he heard Sherlock's body shift in his seat, clearly reaching for the saxophone or violin.
"And Sherlock" he said, turning his head to look over his shoulder. Sherlock hummed in reply from where he was already plucking on the bloody violin. His eyes flashed upwards to meet John's.
"You wake me up once more and that saxophone will be the only instrument I'll be blowing" he said cheekily feeling his courage rise. Sherlock's face dropped and paled about three shades. He hastily dropped the violin.
"Better" John finished turning on his heel and heading back to their room. He did a mental air punch as he heard Sherlock scrabbling to get to his feet and rush after him. Sherlock wasn't the only one who could manipulate people.