From an early age, there began a rivalry between two brothers. These brothers were Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. These two boys were both prodigies, and talented ones at that.
There was always competition between Sherlock and Mycroft. In fact their father encouraged it. And even though Sherlock was younger than Mycroft by seven years, this rivalry brought a bond of friendship, and each admired the other.
But even though Sherlock could beat Mycroft at some things, Mycroft always had a way of beating him, which only made Sherlock try harder to gain his brothers approval.
But there was one thing that Sherlock would never be able to beat Mycroft at. This was singing. Sherlock's mother was a world-renowned opera singer, and her magnificent vocals regularly filled the Holmes household. Mycroft discovered his ability to sing when he was seven years old. He sang like a songbird and their mummy was bursting with pride.
But by the time Sherlock was seven, he had shown no vocal ability, in fact Sherlock owned the opposite. When Sherlock tried to join in with Mycroft's choir at his private school choir concerts, Sherlock sounded like a tortured cat.
Mycroft, even though being kind at heart, taunted Sherlock. Mycroft realized that he had something that Sherlock didn't. He was sick and tired of living in his younger brothers shadow that he used this to his advantage.
Mycroft would tease Sherlock and sing the highest note sweeter than a bell. Sherlock despised Mycroft for it. Sherlock was very mature for a seven year old, and consistently told himself that all Mycroft was, was a chubby songbird that had the talent to hold a note, nothing more. But the more Mycroft teased him, the worse Sherlock felt.
Now mummy Holmes began to notice the separation between her boys. And she sought a solution. So, on one rainy Sunday, Mycroft was out at choir practice, and Sherlock was sitting sadly and silently on the window seat as he did every Sunday when waiting for Mycroft to return. But today, Sherlock wasn't looking out of the window for Mycroft, he was reading a book, but never turned a page.
Mummy went over, carrying a box and sat by Sherlock. He looked up at her and she smiled softly.
"Hello mummy" Said Sherlock obediently. Mummy smiled at him again.
"Want to know what I have for you Sherlock?" she asked. Sherlock's eyes widened in wonder.
"Yes mummy, I would" Sherlock said eagerly. Mummy put the box on the seat.
"Sherlock, this is to cheer you up," she said, smiling as she did. She prized the lid off of the box, and in the purple velvet lining of the box was a polished, beautiful violin. Sherlock lifted the violin from its casing in wonder. He stroked the polished surface and held it carefully.
"Thank you mummy! Thank you ever so much!" Sherlock whispered in hunger.
"Sherlock, I want you to promise me that you will take good care of this violin, cross your heart" she said softly but firmly.
"Cross my heart" Sherlock breathed happily.
Sherlock spend most of his time learning how to tame this musical creature. The more he played, the more he felt the violin was attached to him. Mycroft observed this new interest in jealousy. But he never taunted and never spoke anything about the violin. It was perhaps that maybe his mother told him not to, or out of pure spite.
When Sherlock was eleven years old, he was an expert player. He knew how to caress the strings to create a spine tingling melody. He knew of scales and adored pieces by Stravinsky. But when Sherlock entered secondary school, he became an outcast. Sherlock didn't know how to build friendships. His intelligence scared people, and his arrogant attitude didn't gain him any favors.
Sherlock began to play his violin less and less. He stopped because he didn't have a reason to play, he had no audience. And so his violin began to be trapped in its velvet cage, untouched and unloved.
When Sherlock entered university, he gained some friends and some enemies. But he had not played his violin in five years. And that part of him was always unfilled and empty.
But then John Watson came into his life. Sherlock had started to play his violin again after he left university. He lived in a flat and he played his violin to his landlady Mrs. Hudson. Even though she occasionally complimented him, and wasn't always there to listen, Sherlock begun to play once more.
And John was something new to Sherlock. John accepted Sherlock, he even cared for him. John encouraged Sherlock to play, because Sherlock's talent was too brilliant and elegant to suppress. Sherlock's love was regained, and his audience was restored. The emptiness in his heart was filled not only by his violin but also by John.
But this happiness could never be sustained. Moriarty. Jim Moriarty. The thrill of the game swept Sherlock into its abyss. And when faced with death of John or of himself. He took the plunge. But he faked it.
This weakened Sherlock's already damaged heart. John was heartbroken, and every time Sherlock saw him from a distance, never close, his own heart cracked and split.
Sherlock stopped playing his violin. John was gone. All that was good in bus life was extinguished like a weak flame. And the happiness was drained from his life once more.