A/N - just a little romantic Johnlock ficlit i wrote to get my creative juices flowing again. Enjoy...
A violin. A simple musical instrument composed of spruce wood, pegs and four strings. In the hands of a novice, it can be an instrument so hideous it could be used as a tool for torture. But in the right hands it can produce the most beautiful of sounds. In the hands of Sherlock Holmes, it becomes the most beautiful instrument on the face of the earth. Or so John Watson thinks. The army doctor sits in his armchair gazing with admiration at the world's only consulting detective as his nimble fingers hover over the neck and strings; his opposite hand holding the bow like a true master of the craft, turning and angling it to produce the perfect notes. His eyes are closed, his movements smooth and purposeful and the melody seems to float gently from the object and into John, resting onto his skin, soaking into his veins, pumping with the beat of his heart, and fusing with his thoughts. He doesn't know the names of these peaks and crests and dips in the music, despite Sherlock's constant babbling about it, but it doesn't seem to matter to John anyway, because even if you put a name to it, it will always sound like Sherlock. The notes themselves seem to express the emotions Sherlock Holmes cannot, John imagines them as the sound of his very being; the life and essence of his soul confined, channeled, and put into the language of music.
The melody then crescendos, and he closes his eyes, letting the music lift him higher and higher, then slowly bring him down from that musical peak he had been brought to by the simple movement of Sherlock's hands and fingers.
He opens his eyes and locks gazes with his flat mate; beautiful blue eyes fixed on John's hazel pair, then Sherlock gives him that classic twitch-of-the-lips smile he loves so much. And that is when John Watson realizes that he can't imagine life without that magnificent man; without Sherlock Holmes, and it's the first time it makes his heart skip a beat.