A/N:I have become fascinated by the 5+1 stories. This was a prompt from the livejournal and I had to share. Enjoy :3
1.
Of course, Sherlock had warned him.
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?"
No, a silent flatmate wouldn't bother anyone, John thought. But he hadn't given the slightest thought to the violin. People liked the violin, relaxed to it, right? What would there be to bother him about the violin?
At 3:38 AM, it would bother anyone.
He hadn't been moved in for more than a week when that loud, aggressive playing shocked him out of a sound sleep and he rolled off the bed and onto the floor in a fit before he realized what it was.
Grasping his knee and lamenting his now aching head, John just sighed as the music continued.
Oh... what had he gotten himself into?
2.
Sherlock paced the flat, violin in hand, using the bow to scratch the back of his head lazily in thought.
John sat at the table, head in hand, slowly drifting off to sleep. It was 2:30 in the afternoon, but since he had been
up since 9:30 the previous morning, it was understandable.
"But since the tracks left behind are clearly female... John? John!"
John felt the rap of violin bow across the back of his head.
"OW!" While he glared at Sherlock, John could honestly say he wasn't really that surprised. He'd been living with Sherlock to long for that.
3.
Sherlock actually looked... Shy?
Yes, Sherlock looked like he might truly be a little worried of what John would say.
Truthfully, John had just wanted to go to bed and couldn't help wondering why Sherlock always seemed to choose bedtime for anything involving violin.
But when's Sherlock wouldn't meet his eye, just stood in the center of the room, holding the instrument, John couldn't actually turn him down. That, and the fact that Sherlock never asked people to sit up and listen to his original compositions.
"Of course I'll listen, Sherlock."
He sat in his chair, unsure if he should focus on Sherlock or if that would make him nervous. Sherlock didn't even acknowledge him, but played.
And though it cost him a few hours sleep, John didn't reget it.
4 and 5.
"No, I'm going to bed."
John didn't even want to fight, he was that tired. Or mad. He wasn't sure which.
Either way, Sherlock wasn't getting anymore of a response from him tonight.
He climbed up the stairs to his room, contemplating simply falling on the bed in jeans and jumper.
Just as he pulled the covers over himself, it started.
The bloody bastard had waited till he heard him crawl into bed to start playing that bloody violin!
It wasn't even music this time, just screeching and squawks that mirrored his mood and attitude. John groaned, pulling the pillow over his ear.
Nope, not helping.
Tired as he was, he jumped out of bed in nothing but a tee-shirt and boxers, ran down the stairs and popped into the sitting room.
Sherlock meant to turn to him with a look as if to say, "oh, sorry... bothering you much?"
But as soon as he turned, he got a face full of John's pillow, thrown with a marksman's aim.
John was already back up the stairs before he could comment.
John fell back into bed, feeling a bit immature, but satisfied never the less.
But Sherlock calculated his revenge, and an hour later when he was sure John was asleep, he began playing again...
Right outside Johns door.
A thump was heard on the other side of the door; John falling to the floor.
Sherlock bolted down the stairs, unable to surpress the grin of triumph.
"John?"
Sherlock had just walked into the flat.
It was well past midnight and the lights were low in the room, but John was awake, on the couch with an arm thrown over his head.
"Can't sleep. Head hurts."
Short, clipped sentences, unusual for John. It must have been a bad one.
John didn't expect him to offer tea or pills; he would know John already tried. He expected him to quietly slip into his room and leave him be.
The acetaminophen should kick in any moment and he might be able to sleep.
But instead of retreating to his room, John was shocked to hear violin music.
He lifted his arm from covering his eyes and looked up at Sherlock, confused.
Sherlock wasn't looking at him, but continued to let the soft music pour from the instrument.
It was... nice.
"Focus on the music, John."
And that was the last thing he said.
John sighed, accepting. It actually was quite relaxing. And it was just nice that it was being used to help him, rather than annoy or punish.
John couldn't remember hearing it before; was it a new composition? Or something off the top of Sherlocks head.
John didn't remember falling asleep. He just remembered the music.