It had been a very difficult week. Lazy days went by without a single case to solve, and Sherlock was having a very difficult time managing his boredom. John had been very patient with his friend and made his best to keep him from tearing the flat apart.
John went to buy groceries. He hadn't been out long, when he received a text from Sherlock "Where did you hide my gun and my violin? Why did you do that? - SH" John smiled, as he could picture Sherlock going through the whole flat looking for something to do because even his experiments went to a dead end. He replied. "I won't give you your gun, but I'll be home soon, and you can have your violin back – JW" He didn't reply to any of the texts that followed, and he went back to the flat as fast as he could.
"I'm back" He shouted, and went upstairs with everything he bought.
"What took you so long? Where is my violin?" Sherlock asked as soon as John was in the flat, he looked annoyed and even a little bit angry.
"I hid it because you keep playing in the middle of the night. People need to sleep"
"If people tried sleeping less they would be able to do something slightly important every now and then"
"I need to sleep, because I have to work every day, and I have already fallen asleep there once, remember?" This had happened because of Sherlock, and John had been really embarrassed that day.
He didn't reply, John went to get the violin and handed it to Sherlock, who was very impatient by then, and immediately started tuning it.
"Sherlock, would you like some tea?" He didn't reply, but still John made tea for two people, knowing that Sherlock would eventually want some. He was still in the kitchen when Sherlock began to play. John grabbed the cups and went to the living room. Then he left Sherlock's cup in the only space available in the small coffee table and sat in complete silence. Soon his mind was empty and there was nothing, just Sherlock and his violin.
Sherlock was standing by the window, facing towards the street and playing beautifully. His long figure seemed unreal under the pale light of a winter afternoon. He was devoted to playing, and his music hypnotized John, who wasn't even aware of time anymore. Everything was silent while Sherlock played, as if the entire universe was trying to listen.
He played Bach and Dvořák, then he moved to Sarasate and then he played some pieces that John was unable to identify, that were possibly compositions of his own. His fingers moved as if dancing over the neck of the violin, the notes filled the air. Sherlock played for a very long time, the light was very dim now and none of them bothered to turn the lights on.
Suddenly Sherlock stopped playing. He turned around and walked towards the cozy sofa where John was sitting. "Would you like to try?" he said, while he moved the bow and the violin closer to him, his eyes fixed on John's with wild intensity.
"What? Me? Playing the violin?"
"Yes, I think you would like this" John grabbed the violin as if it was something sacred and not sure of what to do next.
"Now stand up, it will be easier" Sherlock said, and then began to explain the delicate movements of the right hand while holding the bow, the correct position of the left hand and the place where the bow was supposed to touch the strings. He helped John's hands to recognize the violin, its weight and shape, the balance and the pressure required to produce a nice steady sound and he showed his wrists to move softly and securely. He showed his arms to keep the violin resting between his collar bone and his face.
John had never felt more inadequate and clumsy than that day. Sherlock had been playing wonderfully just moments ago, and now, with the exact same instrument he was making the most awkward and unpleasant noises he had ever heard, but at the same time he couldn't believe how focused his friend was in the explanation, how patient he was, and the peaceful expression in his pale face. He just wished to live in this exact moment for the rest of his life, with Sherlock explaining his art and sharing his precious violin with him.
"Do you think I will ever be able to play this? "John asked after a while, almost expecting that Sherlock would give him a smirk and a sarcastic answer.
"You can make a perfect shot from window to window, you can control your fine movements, and I am sure that you can learn to play right" He replied with a sincere smile that made John the happiest person in the world.
So they forgot about the tea, about the world, about the absence of cases. They forgot about the holes Sherlock made in the wall, about time and date. Sherlock seemed pleased and John was happy with the encouraging words of his teacher.
"You are my new experiment. My hypothesis is that you will be able to play nicely." Sherlock said smiling as he walked towards his chair. He remembered his cup of tea, which was completely cold now. He put it down again, and observed John. He looked almost childish to Sherlock, as if he was learning to write and was unsure of whether he was doing it right or not. He would never forget John's expression, his face mixing of curiosity and happiness and the way he forced himself to consciously repeat all the movements Sherlock had taught him.
From that day, they both made some time every other day to continue with the lessons. Over time John became a good player, and he would sometimes play for Sherlock. The flat became the center of their universe during the music sessions and they would never share this time with anybody else in the world. They would never buy a second violin, it was theirs. Shared, as all the moments they had spent together, only the two of them and their music.