A/N: here's my first story joining this lovely fandom!
It's a random thought that took over me after watching the BBC series "A study in pink"
Do enjoy, and leave a comment below ;)
Peace of mind
Sherlock was thinking. Thoughts zoomed into his forever busy mind. They needed an outlet he presumed, so he captured his silent violin and force the melody to speak for him.
He was almost at the peak of the symphony when the familiar angry knocking banged at his door. However, an artist would not stop until his piece was finished, and Sherlock quite command himself on his art.
Watson's raged voice came muffled through the door, and then a softer pound, and then nothing.
Sherlock deducted that Watson was too tired tonight for their lashing routine. After all, it was 3 AM in the morning. He figured that his ex-soldier friend had rested his head to the door, waiting for what he sometimes called "agony" to stop.
Almost there, Sherlock thought, as he finally reached the last notes. He finished his piece with an elegance of a practiced musician, and then bowed for the applause in his head.
He laid his violin on the couch lazily and strolled to open the door. When he did so, Watson's sleepy body swayed towards him, leaning his head to the latter's chest.
Sherlock froze from the contact, and his buzzing head, for once, was perfectly silenced.
He noticed little things, like he always do, it was the cursed eyes of a detective that plucks details and throw them like a curve ball for left side brain to analyze.
He was highly aware of his own heart pumping a few more times per minute, how his breath hitched out of a sudden like the air was knocked out of him, and how his hands seemed to poses a tingle of electricity that traveled through his eager fingertips.
And then his attention moved passed him. He detected the light breathing that escaped Watson's chest. How his head seemed to almost nestle in the vacant space between his ear and shoulder, and how his hair seemed to look like sea waves from where he was standing.
"Can you please cut off this nonsense now?" came Watson's voice vibrating through his shirt.
"Huh?" came the intellectual response from Sherlock. It wasn't until Watson moved his head to look straight into his eyes that he came back to his senses.
The moment has passed, and the frozen thoughts came back to life from their stillness, as they fought through his head demanding his attention.
Watson patted his shoulder tiredly, unaware of the butterfly affect that just took place and climbed back the stairs to his own room.
Sherlock took a full second, staring at the slow retreating figure in front of him, to realize that this man was his only source for a thrilling moment of peace.