"I can't think!"

The frustrated shout echoed in the flat, and John sighed, setting glancing up at his friend over the computer screen.

Sherlock was pacing in a somewhat frantic manner, his hands tearing at his hair, his eyes wild. "Focus, focus..."

"Sher-"

"Shut up!" Sherlock hissed viciously. His hands find his violin and he snatches it up, balancing it on his shoulder. For half a second his wild pacing stills, and he halts, his body relaxing...settling.

He closes his eyes, and inhales, slowly. Moving the bow gently across the strings, he lets his fingers pick the note, pick the song. They bend and move of their own accord, years of practice and muscle memory forcing them into action, and without quite realizing it-he is playing.

Every ounce of focus he pours into the violin, into the music, into the rhythm of the song. He stands still and straight, weaving the bow back and forth across the strings, hardly hearing the music that poured from it. His mind was racing as it always was, but it was slower not as frantic, and he was able to think.

women found dead, blood, son the only survivor...

one, two, one two...

the wind is making the papers rattle

Son only survivor...

three, four, three four...

blood...blood

The song is to slow for his mind, his finger select another note, another tune, and he is playing a faster melody now, the racing notes matching his racing thoughts. The bow is gliding seemingly of its own accord, the harsher sound focusing and pulling at his thoughts, selecting the important ones.

Blood.

Son.

three.

four.

Phone. phone...

one, two, three, four.

Son only survivor...

women found dead...

son...son...son

Oh.

The music stops as the wild race of his thoughts comes to an abrupt halt. "Oh," He mouths the word, whispers it, as images and thoughts begin to race again. But he is focused, now calm.

The pieces fall together, clicking into place, one by one.

"Oh!" The word is a shout, and Sherlock flung the violin aside while he snatches up his coat, grabbing his scarf in the same moment. "John!"

"Coming," John shuts his computer and follows his friend, shaking his head. "You've figured it out then?"

But Sherlock does not answer. He is alight with energy, his hands trembling with excitement, sea-blue eyes wide. He is grinning-this is going to be a fun case...an interesting one.

"Oh yes," He whispers, and slams the door to 221B behind them, calling for a taxi. "I figured it out."