It was early in the morning, how early, John couldn't tell. He pulled off the covers, dragged himself out of bed, and walked downstairs.
"C'mon Sherlock, didn't I tell you that I, unlike you, need some sleep?" John snapped, irritated.
Sherlock put down his bow and violin, and eyed John, with the annoyed state that he tended to have.
"When I first met you, I told you something along the lines that I played violin early in the morning, did I not?" he said, speaking as he did when something was obvious to him, and not to others.
"Well, yes, you did, but-"
"I rest my case." Sherlock turned back around to look outside the window of 221B, picked up his bow and violin, and began to play.
John sighed, sat down on the chair across from Sherlock, rested his head on his arm, and watched Sherlock playing carefully. The city lights hit his face, and showed enough to see his intense concentration. His arm was held up, and he moved the bow across the strings slowly and passionately. John never stopped wondering how he could be stuck with such a handsome and graceful flatmate, who just so happened to be asexual.
John's thoughts were stopped abruptly when Sherlock spun around, his robe spinning dramatically behind him, and stared at John intently.
"I thought you were going back to sleep, why aren't you going back to sleep?" he demanded.
"Well, I obviously can't sleep with all the racket you're making," John said, equally bothered with Sherlock at this point.
Sherlock huffed, and sat down opposite John. They stayed that way in silence, each emptily into space with their own thoughts; John's about his flatmate, and Sherlock's about the case, which led to thinking about John somehow.
"John, why don't you play any instruments?" Sherlock inquired suddenly.
"Why do you ask?"
"Curiosity."
"No, music was never really my forte. No pun intended."
Sherlock absorbed this. "Would you like to?" he asked.
"Well," John hesitated, "I don't see why not."
Sherlock jumped up, grinning. "Brilliant!" The gears were turning in his head. A new experiment, teaching music to someone who clearly hasn't had anything to do with it in the past, observing how someone with an average intelligence could learn something this complicated; it seemed to be fascinating already.
"But Sherlock," John interjected Sherlock's thoughts, "it's two in the morning, and I don't want to rain on your parade, but I've got work to do tomorrow. It can wait," he said, looking weary of his flatmate's reaction, and amused as well. He got up, and started to head off to bed.
"Very well," Sherlock said in reply, looking deflated.
"I suggest you sleep too," John called back to him as he was walking up the stairs.
Sherlock only scoffed, but he put down his violin and went to his desk instead.
The next day, John woke up, at the proper time, and headed to the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of Sherlock running out the door, and heard it slam on his way out. John smiled to himself, and took his shower.
I need some sulfur. And some liquid nitrogen. -SH
I am at work, go ask Molly or call one of Mycroft's people for it. -JW
John sighed, and slipped his phone back into his coat pocket.
Sarah snuck up behind him. "Sherlock again?" she asked, smiling.
"How'd you know?" he replied, a joking sarcasm in his voice.
This was long after John got Sarah involved in the kidnapping, which nearly killed her. She forgave him, and they were still very good friends, but only friends now.
"Are you sure you don't have anything going between you two?"
"How many times do I have to say no?" John wasn't annoyed anymore, he was used to these kinds of questions. He just hoped Sarah didn't catch his slight hesitation.
Sarah looked him in the eye, and John could've sworn that she looked right through him (an ability most women somehow seem to have, he noted), and she chose to say nothing about it.
"Whatever you say," she said in a sing-song voice.
Someone called her from outside. "I'm coming!" she yelled back, and smirked mischievously at John right before she dashed out.
John just rolled his eyes.
Sherlock peered through his microscope, well, St. Bart's microscope, and looked at the bacteria crawling in the slide. Molly walked in as he was pocketing his phone, with two coffees in hand, giving one to Sherlock.
"Molly, do you have some liquid nitrogen? Ooh, and some sulfur," he said, sipping the coffee and still peering into the microscope.
"Yes, I'll go grab some for you," she said obediently, coming back a few minutes later, with two containers in hand.
"Thank you, just go put them on the counter over there," Sherlock said, waving her off while still looking into his microscope.
Molly admired him, like she did so often, and still does, even though she knows that Sherlock will never like her like she does him.
"You and John have something going on," she said, flustered, "but not like that, I didn't mean-"
"Don't talk Molly, it's not really your thing. You should keep quiet."
"It's just that, you refuse to see that. I don't know why you keep denying it, but you have a... strong friendship with John, and... and-" Molly was nervously searching for words.
"Yes Molly, we are..." Sherlock hesitated, as if he was tasting the words on his tongue, "Friends."
"Well of course you are, but you two are inseparable. The way you look at him when he isn't looking, its like... It's more than a friendship. You always miss the most obvious things."
Sherlock finally looked up from his microscope to her, thinking that sometimes Molly, despite her flustered innocence on the outside, was able to see through people. He wondered if all women were like that.
Molly pulled out her phone. "Look Sherlock, I- I have to go. See you later."
She rushed out of the room, Sherlock mumbling a goodbye as she left.
When John walked into the flat, he found Sherlock poring over some newspapers.
"It was the father, he took all of the money, and had a hit man kill off the family. Dull, dull dull." Sherlock tapped on the desk impatiently. "But you're here now, and since I don't have a case, I get to teach you something!" He jumped up and shook John's shoulders, smiling like a little boy.
"About that," John said carefully, while tossing his jacket onto the nearest chair, plopping himself down on it. "You were planning to teach me violin?"
"Yes, yes of course, what did you think?" Sherlock grabbed his violin and bow, and thrust it into John's arms. Almost as an afterthought, he went to his case, took out some rosin, and tossed it at John, who barely managed to catch it. "Before you start, you have to rosin the bow. And I took the privilege of tuning it for you, so you don't have to worry about that."
John sat in his chair, staring at what he had before him. He looked up. "What?"
Sherlock sighed. "Rosin, John. This thing," he said, grabbing the little cube of what looked to be an amber looking rock, shaking it in front of his face. "You go like this," and he took the bow from John's lap, and rubbed the rock against the strings of the bow. "It makes the bow sound better against the strings or the violin, to put it simply. Now stand up."
John did as he was told.
"Hold the violin." John obeyed. "The bow," Sherlock said, holding it out to him. "Now, hold it like you would if you were to play."
John was about to protest about how stupid this whole exercise was, but decided against it, considering that this was something that he couldn't possibly get out of. So, he put the violin under his chin, and rested the bow on top of it. Sherlock examined him.
"Exactly what I thought. You're doing it so completely wrong. Raise your elbow. No, the right one, holding the bow. Yes, that's good. Hold the it up more. More. Yes, good." This is not going to end well, John thought, ignoring the slight pain on his left shoulder, where the violin was, and where he was shot. "Head up higher. At least you were in the army, so your back is straight."
John rolled his eyes, complying with everything Sherlock said.
"Now, you've got the posture straight." He examined John's hand holding the bow. "Fix your hand. Through the bunny hole," he said, poking his finger under John's hand. "It can't be laid down flat. Keep it like that. The fingers on the strings need to be arched more. God, why are your fingers so short, it doesn't make for a good violinist, you should definitely stay away from string instruments," Then why are you making me do this? John thought desperately to himself. "Arch your fingers more on the strings. Okay, good."
Sherlock stepped away, admiring his handiwork. He tapped John's hand and elbow, but looked rather satisfied.
"I'm not going to teach you how to read sheet music, that's good for another time. I'll show you how to play a simple song."
Sherlock told John which strings to place his fingers on, and where to place them. He explained each of them, telling them the names of all the notes.
"Now, put it all together," Sherlock said, stepping back again.
John tried his best, and played. Needless to say, it came out horrifically. They were both wincing at the noise.
"No, no, no, no NO!" Sherlock scolded him.
He came up behind John, and put his arms over John's. "Now," he said, speaking next to John's face, "let's try this again."
Sherlock stood behind him and attempted to fix John's finger placement on the strings, and he gripped John's hand as they moved the bow together. It sounded somewhat bearable this time, and the tune was now recognizable as 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star'.
When it was over, John let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. They stood like that, in the middle of the flat, for a little while longer. John couldn't help but notice how the height difference let his body fix perfectly into Sherlock's. Sherlock noticed the same thing, especially how solid John's body was, as if no matter what he would always be there for him. They hastily stepped away from each other.
"Good job," Sherlock said hollowly, and a bit dazed.
"Thanks," John replied, much like Sherlock.
They stood awkwardly, until Sherlock asked timidly, "Do you want to try another song?"
John smiled, regained his violin playing posture, and Sherlock grinned back at him.