Harry walked in to the doleful strains of Natalie Merchant.
"Christ, John, have you been raiding my old tape collection?" She saw instantly that it was exactly the wrong thing to say. John flinched as he faced the window, one hand resting gently on the violin.
"I'm sorry, John, I —"
"Go away, Harry. Now's not a good time."
Softly, she replied, "I know. That's why I'm here."
John slumped until his forehead pressed against the glass, thumb absently stroking the violin. Quietly, he said, "I... can't believe... I've lost the very best of me." Pause. "It was... on the radio."
Harry furrowed a brow until she heard the singer echo the phrase.
"Oh. Oh, the song. Yes, it helps... when you're sad... to listen to sad songs," Harry fumbled.
John rolled his head from side to side without picking his forehead up from the glass.
"No. I mean, yes—but no. This song."
There was a long silence between them during which the song looped back to the beginning.
Finally, carefully, Harry said, "John, were you two—?"
John's thumb stilled.
"No. Not like that. But I realize... I realize, now, we were... they don't... make... songs, like this, for flatmates."
John's fingers tightened on the instrument as his shoulders began to convulse.
My love is gone... and now the suffering begins.
Inspired by "My Beloved Wife" by Natalie Merchant. And, of course, BBC/Moftiss Sherlock and ACD. No copyright infringement intended.
My Mac tells me the body of text clocks in at 221 even though FF disagrees.