A.N. This is my first attempt at writing in English, which is not my first language, I haven't got a beta reader yet there may be quite a few mistakes, I apologize.
This is a short OS I wrote in a hurry this afternoon since Violinist feels overtook me and I've always wanted to write about the great romance/bromance (as you prefer defining it) between John and Sherlock. Have fun reading it and if you liked it please leave a comment or a short review, it would be lovely of you :)
After Sherlock's death John kept nothing but his violin, not much time passed before he started playing it, at first the sound was awful and he played for no longer than a few minutes, then days passed, months and years, three exactly, he had kept playing all this time, He had been able to convince everyone, even that lovely Mary Morstan who softened John's days since last March, that he was in fact over his beloved friend's death, but he kept playing, no words were spoken about his secret habit, sometimes it was a well known song, other times it was one of the melodies he recalled from Sherlock's days, days when his life had been brightened from his friend's presence, that genius, that mad man whose life encountered with his and changed it, to then disappear and leave him into the darkness that his existence had been and always will be. It was one of those days, John was playing this particular melody that reminded him of this case as much particular, a case in which he had thought he could've lost his friend, not because it was a very dangerous one but because Sherlock, whose life had always revolved around his meticulous work, got more and more interested in someone, someone who wasn't him.
He remembered of fearing the fact that the light of his life could've left as fast as he arrived. He was concentrated on his movements but for how much he tried to remember the next note he kept forgetting the one before, he was starting to feel frustrated because he knew that melody, he had played it many times and more, so it meant that he was starting to forget, and he couldn't have let that happen, then two gloved hands were placed on his, guiding him into playing the right notes, he needn't watching, he was familiar with that tight grip, so he kept playing and playing, hope reborn in his eyes a sly smile on his lips, they played for what seemed an entering to then fall one into each other arms as they hadn't done in a painfully long amount of time.