Author's Note 1: I guess you could find the origins of this story in Granada Sherlock Holmes. It's a scene I pulled from 'The Adventure of the Empty House'. It is the first transmitted episode in which Edward Hardwicke featured as Dr. Watson. I cannot tell you the every details of the scene as it could be seen as spoilers. But at the end, Holmes has a bit of a sleep on the examining table in the Watson's consulting room and Edward's Watson pulls the blanket up around him. I thought I could give a try at a version of that bit of that scene for the BBC series.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters; they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And I certainly didn't come up with the brilliant idea of doing a modern adaption of the Sherlock Holmes series, Messrs Moffat and Gatiss did. I just came up with the idea for this fic.
Nocturne
Violin playing at three am in the morning was nothing new for Dr. John Watson. Sometimes he would hear notes of Paganini being played rather loudly, sometimes it was Bach. He was tolerant to a point of his flatmate, the both esteemed and maligned Sherlock Holmes. He tolerated the conversion undertook by Sherlock of their shared kitchen into a chemistry lab.
He had become wary now of going into their kitchen after two separate unfortunate incidents. One happened just days after he decided to move into he made the mistake of getting butter from the fridge only to find when he opened the tub, a couple of eyeballs looking back at him. And then that bloody head that he found in the fridge.
John knew what to do in cases where Sherlock would be up all night; firstly he would go down and knock on the door of their long suffering landlady Mrs. Hudson and ask her would it be alright if he could use some of her butter to make a sandwich, that he had gone off...again. And then he would go back to his room, switch on his laptop and start to write his blog, the same blog that Sherlock had shared a discourse of his distaste of so many times before with him. To help him to concentrate, he would probably drown out the sound of violin with some Smokey Robinson.
Sherlock put away the violin at four.
John knew however that this would not mean that Sherlock would be going to bed. Many times he had found Sherlock still mulling over the intricacies of a case in the morning after he had had a reasonably good night's sleep, all things considered. He settled down to sleep, half wondering what state he would find his friend in the morning.
In the morning, he decided to go to Speedy's next door to the flat for a quick breakfast. The door to the kitchen and living room was closed on his way down the stairs; he figured that Sherlock must have gone out early on the scent for a solution to his case. On his way out of the flat however, he was stopped by a worried looking Mrs. Hudson.
'John, have you heard from Sherlock this morning?' she asked him.
'Did he not leave early? He usually leaves early when he's on a case' he asked her.
'I never heard him leave. After he finished playing the violin, he paced the room as he usually does for a while. Then it got quiet and I nodded off' she told him.
'Maybe he went out and you just didn't hear him Mrs. Hudson. You know what he's like' he tried to reassure her.
'You might just check the room. Just in case' she politely asked.
'OK,' he sighed.
He turned and went back up to the door, opened it gently and looked rather bemused at the scene in front of him. The violin had made its way to its' master's chair, papers were strewn across the floor and on the couch, underneath more papers was Sherlock, sleeping calmly and deeply. Both of his hands were resting on his stomach. It was the most relaxed John had ever seen him. John quietly took a rug that was nearby and covered Sherlock, before quietly leaving him. He whispered to Mrs. Hudson to stay quiet and then He left for Speedy's and for Sarah's.
Sherlock was looking into his microscope when John returned. They were both silent.
'Thank you for the rug' ' Sherlock said not looking up from the task in hand.
'Well, that's what friends are for' he replied.
Sherlock looked up from his work, the surprise registered on his face for a moment before his expression became his usual cold one again. Watson sort of knew from Holmes' reaction at that moment, that it was rare that someone called Sherlock Holmes a friend to his face.
'Yes, well...' he replied before he nodded.
John nodded back then left Sherlock to his experiments.