A/N This is my first ever Sherlock fan-fic. It's set in season one, not that it really matters, but just in case you were wondering. This is a one shot, but I will think about making another chapter if you guy's want me to. Also, my work is Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine and I'm sorry about them.

Rated : T. Could be M if I write another chapter.

Pairing : Sherlock/John. Slash.

Disclaimer : I do NOT own anything. I'm just writing this because I'm bored with writing about my other stories.

Enjoy;

The Art Of Music.

(John's pov)

I sighed for what most have been the 1000th time to-day as I continued to read the same old news paper. It had been two very long weeks since me and Sherlock had any cases at all, the most crimes that have been happening as of lately are kids snowmen being stolen by other kids. It was, as you may have guessed, snowing outside. Of course, with the British weather, you could get used to it, but it was nearing the end of March. Making it more than a little odd to have snow, but never the less - it was here and we had to deal with in.

But been as there was barely any crimes happening lately, you could figure out with ease that Sherlock was in a right peachy mood. Currently he was on the settee, in nothing but a dark purple shirt. I was pretty much used to seeing Sherlock naked now a days, even if it was freezing cold that man managed to wear nothing at all. He almost always has to have me bath him too, the lazy sod. I do wonder what he used to do before I met him.

His blue eyes were circling around the room, over and over, I should imagine he was getting a headache. But I try not to think about Sherlock's brain much, or I'll be the one with the headache in the end. Rolling my eyes, I fold up the news paper. Anyone who was anyone could tell that Sherlock was bored. He was muttering about something, I couldn't quite catch what though. I figured he would probably start playing the violin if he was thinking something over.

Then, suddenly, he jumped up. I watched as he walked around the room grabbing his violin with one hand and the bow with the other. A smile playing at the corner of my lips, I do love the sound of the beautiful instrument when Sherlock played. But than Sherlock did something I wasn't expecting at all, he stood in front of me. Not moving, or play the violin, just staring at me with his blue eyes. The purple shirt riding just past his hips and thighs - only just about covering his...err, family jewels.

"John, do you want to learn how to play the Violin." He wasn't really asking, he was more like telling me that - yes, I do want to learn and yes - I want Sherlock to teach me it too. I look up at him, he was serious, I could tell. Sighing again, I rubbed my temple.

"Why would I want to learn how to - "

"You start like this." Sherlock placed the violin on his shoulder, resting his check on the padding there. He close's his eyes, placing the bow onto the tightened up strings. And then, he plays. I know it from the start, a piece by : Antonio Vivaldi - called : The Four Seasons - Spring. Sherlock had, of course, recreated it to be a short piece, but it still carried out the beauty of the tune. I had always thought that you needed a full Orchestra for this type of thing, but with Sherlock, you only ever needed him. As the music continued to play, Sherlock's face changed.

From the bored and normally insulting people just by looking at him. To a more relaxed and free one. Like a bird just being freed from its cage and was flying through the trees, the leaves ever so gently brushing up against the birds wings. I couldn't help but grin as his lips curled up into a smile as his body moved around the room - managing not to hit one thing at all. Which was surprising with all the junk that was left about.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, listening as the violin kept playing. This had to be Sherlock at his best. Just as he was about to finish it off though, I heard him shriek out and then having something light land on me. My eyes snap open and I look down, bursting out in laughter as I did. There was Sherlock, on my lap, his legs hanging over the arm of the chair. His hair muffled up from all the moving he had done. It was very clear that the great almighty Sherlock Homes had fallen over the arm-chair, and you'd think he - out all the people in the world - would have paid more attention to where he was going wouldn't you?

He glares at me, poking my side with the bow.

"That," His glare increases. "Was all but funny."

"It was very funny to me, Sherlock." I laugh some more before I hear a huff of disapproval.

"I suppose with a little mind like yours, you would find that somewhat funny." And there he was, the insults coming back again. At least I knew he was ok now.

"You've got a very boney bum." I say, trying to change the subject - to what though - I do not know.

"And that better be your phone." He responds dryly. I shake my head. Oh Sherlock, you do make me laugh.

"I thought you were going to teach me how to play the violin, not be dirty."

"Well, John, we could do a bit of both." I blink, not expecting that to come from him, but before I know it - he pounces like a cat. No more the bird, but the feline who ate it. Oh dear god, what have I gotten myself into. The chair I was in goes over, knocking us to the floor, I think I'm going into shock as he straddles my hips. His strong, yet woman like hands grasp onto the collar of my shirt. He smiles, a smile that could bring any man to his knees. I lick my suddenly dry lips. Our lips mere inches from each others. This was it, I was about to kiss Sherlock Homes, wow. Sherlock leans down with his eyes closed, mine close as well as our lips meet.

And then, there's a knock on the door, we split bloomin' quickly. Yet Sherlock stays sitting on me. Mrs Hudson comes in with a smile and a tray full of tea and biscuits. That was, until - she saw us. The tray falls to the floor, her normal smile soon fading as her shaky hands cup around her mouth.

"Do you mind." Sherlock dead pans.

"Sherlock!" I scolded but he just rolls his eyes. I turn to Mrs Hudson and smile as charmingly as I can. "We're sorry about this, we'll just clean up this little mess of ours."

She just stands there, watching up, her eyes widening each time see look in between us. "I-I-I," She stumbles over her words. "I've finally got something to write about! Fan-fiction here I come!" She yells loudly, running down the stairs. A smile sitting on her face as she jumps with joy. Obviously her writer's block fading away, as a fellow writer - I understand. But what on earth was Fan-fiction? I ponder over it for only a few seconds before I felt a hot breath lingering on my ear.

"It a site were fan girls and boys unleash their imagination. I've only had the pleasure of reading a few of them myself, but I can a sure you, there all a very good read. We've got quite the fan base, my dear Watson." Before I knew it, I was being kissed again; this time it lasted longer. My hands working on their own as they traveled down his back, squeezing gently on his arse.

Well, this wasn't going to be so boring now is it? Oh, and do remind me to check out the site called Fan-fiction sooner rather than later.

d-_-b

Review Or Pm. There might be another chapter to this, if I get a review, if not then I'll most likely end it here. Or I'll remove it. I don't see the point in keeping a fanfic up that has no reviews, that may just be me, but oh well. Sorry about all the mistakes.